university  of 

Connecticut 

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Prince  and  the  pauper; 


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Hugh  Lathvier,  Bishop  of  Worcester^  to  Lord  Cromwell,  on  the  birth 
of  the  Prince  of  Wales  (^afterzvard  Edward  VI.). 


FROM  THE  NATIONAL   MANUSCRIPTS  PEESEKVED  BY  THE  BRITISH   GOVERNMENT. 


t-^'J^~       ^-^-"^      /CV'-TiM-    .(    ^   y>-^-ifUr-  J       -yT^'"^    -A^-^^-i  j-.  ^►c-       £v44- il-^.^ 

^/,.~    y-^    4^.^  I  / 


Hugh  Latlmee,  Bishojy  of  Worcester,  to  Lord  Cromwell,  on  the  birth 
of  the  FniNCE  OF  Wales  (aftertvard  Edward  VI.). 


FROM   THE   XATIOXAI.   MANUSCKIPTS   PKESERVEI)   BY   THE   BRITISH   GOVERNMENT. 


Ryglit  honorable,  Salutem  in  Christo  Jesa,  and  S3T  here  ys  no  lesse 
jo3'nge  and  rejossjuige  in  thes  partees  for  the  byrth  of  our  prynce,  hoom 
we  hungiirdc  for  so  longe,  then  ther  was  (I  trow),  inter  vicinos  att  the 
bjTth  of  S.  I.  Baptj-ste,  as  thys  berer,  Master  Erance,  can  telle  you.  Gode 
gyffe  us  alle  grace,  to  yelde  dew  thankes  to  our  Lordc  Gode,  Gode  of 
Inglonde,  for  verel}'  He  bathe  sho^d  Hym  selff  Gode  of  Inglondc,  or  rather 
an  Ingl3'ssh  Gode,  yf  we  cons^'dj'r  and  pondyr  welle  alle  H^'s  procedj'nges 
with  us  from  t\-me  to  t^me.  He  hath  overcumme  alle  our  jllnesse  with 
Hys  exced^'nge  goodnesse,  so  that  we  ar  now  moor  then  compell^'d  to  serve 
H)-m,  seke  Hj's  glor^-,  promott  Hys  wurde,  yf  the  Devylle  of  alle  Devylles 
be  natt  in  us.  We  have  now  the  stooppe  of  va3'ne  trustes  ande  tlie  stey  of 
va_yne  expectations ;  lett  us  alle  pra^'  for  h3's  preservatione.  Ande  I  foi- 
my  partt  w^'lle  w^'ssh  that  h^-s  Grace  allwa3-s  ha\'e,  and  evyn  now  from  the 
beg3'n3-nge,  Governares,  Instructores  and  off3'ceres  of  r3"ght  jugmeute,  we 
optimum  ingenium  nan  optima  educatione  depravetur. 

Butt  whatt  a  grett  fowllc  am  I !  So,  whatt  devotione  sli03'th  man3'  t3"m3S 
butt  l3'telle  d3'scretione !  Ande  thus  the  Gode  of  Inglonde  be  ever  with 
3'ou  in  alle  30ur  proced3nges. 

The  19  of  October. 

Youres,  H.  L.  B.  of  Wurcestere,  now  att  Hartlebury. 

Yf  3-0U  woldc  exc3'tt  th3's  berere  to  be  moore  hartye  a3'en  the  abuse  of 
3'raagiy  or  mor  forwardc  to  promotte  the^ver3-te,  ytt  myght  doo  goode. 
Natt  that  3'tt  came  of  mc,  butt  of  your  selff'e,   &c. 

(Addressed)     To  the  Eyght  Hunoiable  Loordo  P.  fcjealle  hys  synguler  gode  Lorde. 


THE 


Prince  and  the  Pauper 


^    ©ALE 


FOR   YOUNG  PEOPLE  OF  ALL  AGES 


Bvr 


MARK     TWAIN 


WITH  ONE  HUNDRED  AND  NINETY-TWO  ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK 
CHARLES    L.  WEBSTER  AND  COMPANY 

1885 


2. 

"5 


OS9 
Pr(o 


Copyright,  i88i, 
By    S.    L.    CLEMENS. 


^11  vights  reserved. 


TO 

THOSE    GOOD-MANNERED    AND   AGREEABLE   CHILDREN, 

SUSIE    AND    CLARA    CLEMENS, 

2Dljt0  115oofe 

IS    AFFECTIONATELY     INSCRIBED 
BY   THEIR   FATHER. 


The  quality  of  mercy  .   .   • 

is  twice  bless'd: 
It  blesseth  him  that  gives,  and  him  that  takes; 
'Tis  mightiest  in  the  mightiest:  it  becomes 
The  throned  monarch  better  than  his  crown. 

Merchant  of  Venice. 


COI^TEI^TS. 


CHAPTER 

I.  The  Bikth  of  the  Prince  axd  the  Pauper 

II.  Tojrs  Early  Life     .... 

III.  Tom's  Meeting  with  the  Prixce 

IV.  The  Prince's  Troubles  begin 
V.  Tom  as  a  Patrician     .... 

VI.  Tom  receives  Instructions    . 

VII.  Tom's  First  PiOyal  Dinner 

VIII.  The  Question  of  the  Seal    . 

IX.  The  River  Pageant     .... 

X.  The  Prince  in  the  Toils 

XI.  At  Guildhall 

XII.  The  Prince  and  His  Deliverer  . 

XIII.  The  Disappearance  of  the  Prince 

XIV.  '"Le  Eoi  est  mort  —  Vive  le  Eoi" 
XV.  Tom  as  King 

XVI.  The  State  Dinner    .... 

XVII.  Foo-Foo  the  First         .... 

XVIII.  The  Prince  avith  the  Tramps 

XIX.  The  Prince  with  the  Peasants 

XX.  The  Prince  and  the  Hermit 

XXI.  Hendon  to  the  Rescue 

XXII.  A  Victim  of  Treachery 

XXIII.  The  Prince  a  Prisoner      .        .        , 


PAGE 

.   23 

27 

.   37 

49 

.   57 

73 

.   89 

97 

.  103 

109 
.  123 

133 
.  151 

IGl 
.  179 

195 
.  203 

223 
.  237 

247 
.  259 

269 
.  2S1 


11 


12  COIfTJ£NTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIV.  The  Escape 289 

XXV.  IlEXDON  Hall 295 

XXVI.  Dlsowned 309 

XXVII.  Ix  Pkison 317 

XXVIII.  TuE  Sacrifice 333 

XXIX.  To  London 341 

XXX.  Tom's  Pijogkess 347 

XXXI.  The  Kecognition  Peocession 3o3 

XXXII,  Coronation  Day 365 

XXXIII.  Edward  as  King 385 

C0XCLUSI0:N'.      Justice  and  Retribution 399 

NOTES 405 


List  of  Illusteatio^s. 


Page 

The  Great  Seal  (frontispiece) 8 

The  Birth  of  the  Trince  and  the  Pauper  (half-title).        ....  21 

"Splendid  Pageants  and  Great  Bonfires"      .......  23 

Tom's  Early  Life  (half-title) 25 

Offal  Court 28 

"With  anv  Miserable  Crust" 29 

"He  often  read  the  Priest's  Books" 30 

"Saw  Poor  Anne  Askevv  burned" 31 

"Brought  their  Perplexities  to  Tom"      .        .                32 

"Longing  for  the  Pork-Pies" 33 

Tom's  Meeting  "with  the  Prince  (half-title) 35 

"At  Temple  Bar" 37 

"Let  him  in  1 " ...  39 

"  How  Old  be  These  ?  " 41 

"  Doff  thy  Rags,  and  don  these  Splendors  " .43 

"I  salute  your  Gracious  Highness!" 46 

The  Prince's  Troubles  begin  (half-title) 47 

"  Set  upon  by  Dogs  " j  50 

"A  Drunken  Ruffian  collared  him"         . 52 

Tom  as  a  Patrician  (half-title) 55 

"Next  he  drew  the  Sword". 57 

"Resolved  to  fly" 58 

"The  Boy  was  on  his  Knees"        ....         • 59 

"Great  Nobles  walked  upon  Each  Side  of  him" 61 

"He  dropped  upon  his  Knees" 62 

"  He  turned  with  Joyful  Face  " 64 

"  The  Physician  bowed  low  " 65 

13 


14  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Page 

"The  King  felt,  back  upox  ms  Couch" 67 

"Is  THIS  Man  to  live  forever?" 68 

Tom  receives  Instructions  (half-title) 71 

"Prithee,  insist  not" 73 

"The  Lord  St.  John  made  Eeverence" .  75 

Hertford  and  the  Princesses .77 

"She  made  Reverence" 79 

"Offered  it  to  him  on  a  Golden  Salver" SO 

"They  mused  a  while" 82 

"Peace,  my  Lord,  thou  utterest  Tijeason!" .  83 

"He  BEGAN  to  pace  THE  FlOOR  " 84 

Tom's  First  PtOYAL  Dinner  (half-title) 87 

"Fastened  a  Napkin  about  his  Neck" 89 

"Tom  ate  avith  his  Fingers" 91 

"  Ue  gravely  took  a  Draught" 92 

"Tom  put  on  the  Greaves" 93 

The  Question  of  the  Seal  (half-title) 95 

"The  Attendants  eased  him  back  upon  his  Pillows" 98 

The  River  Pageant  (half-title) 101 

"A  Troop  of  Halberdiers  appeared  in  the  Gateway"       ....  104 

"To.m  Canty  stepped  into  View" 106 

The  Prince  in  the  Toils  (half-title) 107 

"A  DIM  Form  sank  to  the  Ground" 110 

*'Wiio  art  thou?" Ill 

"Sent  him  staggering  into  Goodwife  Canty's  Arms"        ....  113 

"She  bent  ueedfully  and  avarily  over  him" 115 

"The  Prince  sprang  up" 116 

"Hurried  him  along  the  Dark  Way" 118 

"  He  avasted  no  Time  " 120 

At  Guildhall  (half-title) 121 

"A  Rich  Canopy  of  State" 124 

"Began  to  lay  about  him" 127 

"  Long  live  the  King  !  " 128 

The  Prince  and  his  Deliverer  (half-title) 131 

"  Our  Fkiknds  thheaded  their  Way" 134 

"Ob.ject  Lessons"  in  English  History 136 

"John  Canty  moved  off" 137 

"Smoothing  back  the  Tangled  Curls" 139 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS.  15 

Page 

"Prithee,  pouk  the  Water" 141 

"Go  ON — tell  me  thy  Story" 142 

"Thou  hast  been  shamefully  abused" 145 

"  He  dropped  on  one  Knee  " 146 

"Rise,  Sir  Miles  Hendon,  Baronet" 148 

The  Disappearance  of  the  Prince  (half-title) 149 

"He  dropped  asleep" 151 

"These  be  very  Good  and  Sound" 153 

"Explain,  thou  Limb  of  Satan" 155 

"Hendon  folloaved  after  him" 156 

"Le  Roi  est  mort  —  VIVE  le  Eoi"  (half-title) 159 

"Wilt  deign  to  deliver  thy  Commands?"        ........  162 

"  The  First  Lord  of  the  Bedchamber  received  the  Hose  "...  164 

"A  Secretary  of  State  presented  an  Order"       ......  166 

"The  Boy  rose,  and  stood  at  Graceful  Ease" 170 

" 'Tis  I  that  take  them" 172 

"  If  your  Majesty  ayill  but  tax  your  Memory  " 175 

Tom  as  King  (half-title) 177 

"Tom  had  "wandered  to  a  Window" .  181 

"Tom  scanned  the  Prisoners" 183 

"Let  the  Prisoner  go  free!" 187 

"What  is  it  that  these  have  Done?" 188 

"  Several  Old  Heads  nodded  their  Recognition  " 190 

The  State  Dinner  (half-title) 193 

"A  Gentleman  bearing  a  Rod" 196 

"The  Chancellor  between  two" 197 

"i  thank  ye,  my"  good  people  "        .,...,..,  198 

"He  marched  away  in  the  Midst  of  his  Pageant" 199 

Foo-Foo  THE  First  (half-title) 201 

"The  Ruffian  followed  their  Steps"       .                205 

"He  seized  a  Billet  of  Wood" 206 

"  He  avas  soon  absorbed  in  Thinking  " 207 

"A  Grim  and  Unsightly  Picture" 208 

"They  roared  out  a  Rollicking  Ditty" 210 

"  Whilst  the  Flames  licked  upwards  " 212 

"They  avere  avhipped  at  the  Cart's  Tail" 213 

"Thou  shalt  not" .        .  215 

"Knocking  Hobbs  doavn  " 216 


16  LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Paok 

'  Throne  him  " 218 

Thk  Prince  with  the  Tramps  (half-title) 221 

•'The  Troop  of  Vagabonds  set  foravard" 224 

■'They  threw  Bones  and  Vegetables" 225 

•'Began  to  writhe  and  wallow  in  the  Dirt" 227 

"The  King  fled  in  the  Opposite  Direction" 228 

"He  stumbled  along" 230 

"What  seemed  to  be  a  Warm  Rope" 232 

"Cuddled  up  to  the  Calf" 233 

The  Prince  with  the  Peasants  (half-title) 235 

•'Took  a  Good  Satisfying  Stare" 239 

"The  Children's  Mother  received  the  King  kindly"          ....  240 

"Brought  the  King  out  of  his  Dreams" 242 

"Gave  him  a  Butcher  Knife  to  grind" 244 

The  Prince  and  the  Hermit  (half-title) 245 

"He  turned  and  descried  two  Figures" 248 

"The  King  entered  and  paused" 249 

"i  will  tell  y'ou  a  secret " 251 

"Chatting  pleasantly'  all  the  Time" 253 

"Drew  his  Thumb  along  the  Edge" 255 

"The  next  Moment  they'  were  bound" 256 

Hendon  to  the  Rescue  (half-title) 257 

"Sunk  upon  his  Knees" 260 

"God  made  Every'  Creature  but  y'Ou!" 262 

"  The  Fettered  Little  King  " 264 

A  Victim  of  Treachery  (half-title) 267 

"Hugo  stood  no  Chance" 270 

"Hugo  bound  the  Poultice  tight  and  fast" 272 

•'Tarry  here  till  I  come  again" 274 

"The  King  sprang  to  his  Deliverer's  Side" 276 

The  Prince  a  Prisoner  (half-title) 279 

"  Gently,  Good  Friend  "           282 

"She  sprang  to  her  Feet" 284 

The  Escape  (half-title) 287 

"The  Pig  may  cost  thy  Neck,  Man" 290 

•'Bear  me  up,  bear  me  up,  Sweet  Sir!" 292 

Qendon  Hall  (half-title) 293 

"  Jogging  Eastward  on  Sorry  Steeds  " 296 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTBATIOJSfS.  17 

Pagk 

"There  is  the  Village,  my  Prince!" 297 

"'Embrace  me,  Hugh,'  he  cried" 299 

"Hugh  put  up  his  Hand  in  Dissent" 301 

"A  Beautiful  Lady,  richly  clothed,  followed  Hugh"  ....  303 

"Hugh  was  pinned  to  the  Wall" 305 

Disowned  (half-title) 307 

"Obey,  and  have  no  Fear" 310 

"  Am  I  Miles  Hendon  ?  " 313 

In  Prison  (half-title) 315 

"Chained  in  a  Large  Room" 318 

"  The  Old  Man  looked  Hendon  over  " 320 

"Information  delivered  in  a  Low  Voice" 321 

"The  King!"  he  cried.     "What  King?" 323 

"Two  Women  chained  to  Posts" 326 

"Torn  away  by  the  Officers" 328 

"The  King  was  Furious" 329 

The  Sacrifice  (half-title) 331 

"He  confronted  the  Officer  in  Charge" 334 

"  While  the  Lash  was  applied,  the  Poor  King  turned  away  his  Face  "   .  336 

"Sir  Hugh  spurred  away" 337 

To  London  (half-title) 339 

"Hendon  mounted  and  rode  off  with  the  King"      .        .        f       .        .  342 

"  In  the  Midst  of  a  Jam  of  Howling  People  " 343 

Tom's  Progress  (half-title) 345 

"To  kiss  his  Hand  at  Parting" 348 

"Commanded  her  to  go  to  her  Closet"         . 349 

The  PiECOGNiTioN  Procession  (half-title) 351 

The  Start  for  the  Tower 353 

"Welcome,  O  King!" 355 

"A  Largess!  a  Largess!" 356 

"She  was  at  his  Side" 359 

"  My  Liege,  it  is  an  III  Time  for  Dreaming  " 361 

"She  was  my  Mother" 362 

Coronation  Day  (half-title) 363 

"Gathers  up  the  Lady's  Long  Train" 366 

"Tom  Canty  appeared" 368 

"And  fell  on  his  Knees  before  him" 370 

"The  Great  Seal  —  fetch  it  hither" 373 


18  LIST  OF  ILLUSTltATIONS. 

Page 

"Sire,  the  Seal  is  not  there" 375 

"Bethink  thee,  my  King" 377 

"Long  live  the  True  King!" 379 

"To  CRACK  Nuts  with" 381 

Edward  as  King  (half-title) ,        .        .  383 

"He  stretched  himself  on  the  Ground" 386 

"Arrested  as  a  Suspicious  Character" 389 

"It  is  his  Eight" 392 

"Strip  this  Eobber" 394 

"Tom  rose  and  kissed  the  King's  Hand" 395 

Justice  and  Retribution  (half-title) 397 

Notes  (half-title) 403 


I  WILL  set  down  a  tale  as  it  was  told  to  me  by  one  who  had  it 
of  his  father,  whicli  latter  had  it  of  his  father,  this  last  having  in  like 
manner  hud  it  of  his  father  —  and  so  on,  back  and  still  back,  three 
hundred  years  and  more,  the  fathers  transmitting  it  to  the  sons  and 
so  preserving  it.  It  may  be  history,  it  may  be  only  a  legend,  a  tradi- 
tion. It  may  have  happened,  it  may  not  have  happened  :  but  it  ccndd 
have  happened.  It  may  be  that  the  wise  and  the  learned  believed  it 
in  the  old  days ;  it  may  be  that  only  the  unleai'Jied  and  the  simple 
loved  it  and  credited  it. 


THE  PRINCE  AND  THE  PAUPEE. 


CHAPTER    I 


THE    BIRTH    OF    THE     PRINCE     AND    THE    PAUPER. 


'I    ( 


In  the  ancient  city  of  London, 
on  a  certain  autumn  day  in 
the  second  quarter  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  a  boy 
was  born  to  a  poor  family 
of  the  name  of  Canty,  who 
did  not  want  him.  On  the 
same  day  another  English 
child  was  born  to  a  rich 
family  of  the  name  of 
Tudor,  who  did  want  him. 

• 

All  England  wanted  him 

too.         England     had     so 

longed  for  him,  and  hoped 

for  him,  and  prayed  God 

for  him,  that,  now  that  he 

was  really  come,  the  people 

went  nearly  mad  for  joy. 

Mere    acquaintances    hugged   and  kissed    each 

other  and    cried.      Everybody  took  a   holiday, 


^1  <^<si>,r::^.^fei..a^ 


SPLENDID  PAGEANTS 
AND  GKEAT  BON- 
FIRES." 


23 


24  THE  BIRTH    OF  THE  PRINCE  AND    THE  PAUPER. 

and  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  feasted  and  danced  and  sang,  and 
got  very  mellow ;  and  they  kept  this  np  for  days  and  nights  together. 
By  day,  London  was  a  sight  to  see,  with  gay  banners  waving  from 
every  balcony  and  housetop,  and  splendid  pageants  marching  along. 
By  night,  it  was  again  a  sight  to  see,  with  its  great  bonfires  at  every 
corner,  and  its  troops  of  revellers  making  merry  around  them.  There 
was  no  talk  in  all  England  but  of  the  new  bab}^  Edward  Tudor, 
Prince  of  Wales,  who  lay  lapped  in  silks  and  satins,  unconscious  of 
all  this  fuss,  and  not  knowing  that  great  lords  and  ladies  were  tending 
him  and  watching  over  him — and  not  caring,  either.  But  there  was 
no  talk  about  the  other  baby,  Tom  Canty,  lapped  in  his  poor  rags, 
except  among  the  family  of  paupers  whom  he  had  just  come  to  trouble 
with  liis  presence. 


CHAPTER    II. 


TOM'S    EARLY    LIFE. 


Let  us  skip  a  number  of  3-ears. 

London  was  fifteen  hundred  years  old,  and  was  a  great  town  —  for 
that  day.  It  had  a  hundred  thousand  inhabitants — some  think  double 
as  many.  The  streets  were  very  narrow,  and  crooked,  and  dirty, 
especially  in  the  part  where  Tom  Canty  lived,  which  was  not  far  from 
London  Bridge.  The  houses  were  of  wood,  with  the  second  story 
projecting  over  the  first,  and  the  third  sticking  its  elbows  out  beyond 
the  second.  The  higher  the  houses  grew,  the  broader  they  grew. 
They  were  skeletons  of  strong  criss-cross  beams,  with  solid  material 
between,  coated  with  plaster.  The  beams  were  painted  red  or  blue 
or  black,  according  to  the  owner's  taste,  and  this  gave  the  houses  a 
very  picturesque  look.  The  windows  were  small,  glazed  with  little 
diamond-shaped    panes,    and    they    opened    outward,    on    hinges,   like 

doors.  ^^^.^^e/^ 

The  house  which  Tom's  father  lived  in  was  up  a  foul  little  pocket 
called  Offal  Court,  out  of  Pudding  Lane.  It  was  small,  decayed,  and 
rickety,  but  it  was  packed  full  of  wretchedly  poor  families.  Canty's 
tribe  occupied  a  room  on  the  third  floor.  The  mother  and  father  had 
a  sort  of  bedstead  in  the  corner;  but  Tom,  his  grandmother,  and  his 
two  sisters.  Bet  and  Nan,  were  not  restricted  —  they  had  all  the  floor 
to  themselves,  and  might  sleep  where  they  chose.  There  were  the 
remains  of  a  blanket  or  two,  and  some  bundles  of  ancient  and  dirty 
straw,  but  these  could  not  rightly  be  called  beds,  for  they  were  not 

27 


28 


TOM'S   EARLY  LIFE. 


organized ;  they  were  kicked  into  a  general  pile,  mornings,  and  selec- 
tions made  from  the  mass  at 
night,  for  service. 

Bet  and  Nan  were  fifteen 
years  old  —  twins.  They 
were  good-hearted  girls,  un- 
clean, clothed  in  rags,  and 
profoundly  ignorant.  Their 
mother  was  like  them.  But 
the  father  and  the  grand- 
mother were  a  couple  of 
fiends.  They  got  drunk 
whenever  they  could ;  then 
they  fought  each  other  or 
anybody  else  who  came  in 
the  way  ;  they  cursed  and 
swore  always,  drunk  or  so- 
ber ;  John  Canty  was  a  thief, 
and  his  mother  a  beggar. 
They  made  beggars  of  the 
children,  but  failed  to  make 
thieves  of  them.  Among, 
but  not  of,  the  dreadful 
rabble  that  inhabited  the 
house,  was  a  good  old  priest 
whom  the  King  had  turned 
out  of  house  and  home  with 
a  pension  of  a  few  farthings, 
and  he  used  to  get  the  chil- 
dren aside  and  teach  them 
Father  Andrew  also  taught  Tom  a  little  Latin, 


/- 


OFFAL  COURT, 


riglit  ways  secretly. 


T03I\S   EABLY  LIFE. 


29 


and  liow  to  read  and  write;  and  would  liave  done  the  same  with  the 
girls,  l)iit  they  were  afraid  of  the  jeers  of  their  friends,  who  could 
not  have  endured  such  a  queer  accomplishment  in  them. 

All  Offal  Court  was  just  such  another  hive  as  Canty's  house. 
Drunkenness,  riot  and  brawling  were  the  order,  there,  every  night  and 
nearly  all  night  long.  Broken  heads  were  as  common  as  hunger  in 
that  i^lace.  Yet  little  Tom  was  not  unhappy.  He  had  a  hard  time  of 
it,  but  did  not  know  it.  It  was  the  sort  of  time  that  all  the  Offal 
Court  boys  had,  therefore  he  supposed  it  was  the  correct  and  comforta- 
ble thing.  When  he  came  home  empty  handed  at  night,  he  knew  his 
father  would  curse 
him  and  thrash 
him  first,  and  that 
when  he  was  done 
the  awful  grand- 
mother would  do 
it  all  over  again 
and  improve  on  it ; 
and  that  away  in 
the  night  his  starv- 
ing mother  would 
slip  to  him  stealth- 
ily with  any  mis- 
erable     scrap      or 

crust  she  had  been  able  to  save  for  him  by  going  hungry  herself, 
notwithstanding  she  was  often  caught  in  that  sort  of  treason  and 
soundly  beaten  for  it  by  her  husband. 

No,  Tom's  life  went  along  well  enough,  especially  in  summer.  He 
only  begged  just  enough  to  save  himself,  for  the  laws  against  mendi- 
cancy were  stringent,  and  the  penalties  heavy ;  so  he  put  in  a  good 
deal  of  his  time  listening  to  good  Father  Andrew's  charming  old  tales 


"with  any  misekable  cbust. 


30 


TOM'S   EARLY  LIFE. 


and  legends  about  giants  and  fairies,  dwarfs  and  genii,  and  enchanted 
castles,  and  gorgeous  kings  and  princes.  His  head  grew  to  be  full  of 
these  wonderful  things,  and  many  a  night  as  he  lay  in  the  dark  on  his 
scant  and  offensive  straw,  tired,  hungry,  and  smarting  from  a  thrash- 
ing, he  unleashed  his  imagi- 
nation and  soon  forgot  his 
aches  and  pains  in  delicious 
picturings  to  himself  of  the 
charmed  life  of  a  petted 
prince  in  a  regal  palace. 
One  desire  came  in  time 
to  haunt  him  day  and 
night :  it  was  to  see  a  real 
prince,  with  his  own  eyes. 
He  spoke  of  it  once  to 
some  of  his  Offal  Court 
comrades;  but  they  jeered 
him  and  scoffed  him  so 
unmercifully  that  he  was 
glad  to  keep  his  dream  to 
himself  after  that. 

He  often  read  the 
priest's  old  books  and  got 
him  to  explain  and  en- 
large upon  them.  His 
dreamings  and  readings 
"UK  OFTEN  liEAD  TiiK  puiest's  BOOKS."  workcd  certaiu  changes  in 

him,  by  and  by.  His 
dream-people  were  so  fine  that  he  grew  to  lament  his  shabby  clothing 
and  his  dirt,  and  to  wish  to  be  clean  and  better  clad.  He  went  on 
playing  in  the  mud  just  the  same,  and  enjoying  it,  too ;  but  instead  of 


TOM'S    EARLY  LIFE. 


31 


splashing  around  in 
for  the  fun  of  it, 
added  value  in  it 
ings  and  cleansings 
Tom  could  al- 
going  on  around  the 
side,  and  at  the  fairs ; 
and  the  rest  of  Lon- 
to  see  a  military 
famous  unfortunate 
to    the    Tower,    by 


SAW   POOIi  ANNE   ASKEW 
BURNED." 


the  Thames  solely 
he  began  to  find  an 
because  of  the  wash- 
it  afforded, 
ways  find  something 
Maypole  in  Cheap- 
and  now  and  then  he 
don  had  a  chance 
parade  when  some 
was  carried  prisoner 
land  or  boat.     One 


summer's  day  he  saw  poor  Anne  Askew  and  three  men  burned  at  the 
stake  in  Smithfield,  and  heard  an  ex-Bishop  preach  a  sermon  to  them 
which  did  not  interest  him.  Yes,  Tom's  life  was  varied  and  pleasant 
enough,  on  the  whole. 

By  and  by  Tom's  reading  and  dreaming  about  princely  life  wrought 


32 


TOM'S   EARLY    LTFE. 


such  a  strong  effect  upon  him  that  lie  began  to  act  the  prince,  uncon- 
sciously. His  speech  and  manners  became  curiously  ceremonious  and 
courtly,  to  the  vast  admiration  and  amusement  of  his  intimates.  But 
Tom's  influence  among  these  young  people  began  to  grow,  now,  day 

by  day ;  and  in  time  he  came  to 
be  looked  up  to,  by  them,  with  a 
sort  of  wondering  awe,  as  a  supe- 
rior being.  He  seemed  to  know 
so  much !  and  he  could  do  and 
say  such  marvellous  things  !  and 
withal,  he  was  so  deep  and  wise  ! 
Tom's  remarks,  and  Tom's  per- 
formances, were  reported  by  the 
boys  to  their  elders ;  and  these, 
also,  presently  began  to  discuss 
Tom  Canty,  and  to  regard  him  as 
a  most  gifted  and  extraordinary 
creature.  Full  grown  people 
brought  their  perplexities  to  Tom 
for  solution,  and  were  often  as- 
tonished at  the  wit  and  wisdom  of  his  decisions.  In  fact  he  was 
become  a  hero  to  all  who  knew  him  except  his  own  family  —  these, 
only,  saw  nothing  in  him. 

Privately,  after  a  while,  Tom  organized  a  royal  court!  He  was 
the  prince  ;  his  special  comrades  were  guards,  chamberlains,  equerries, 
lords  and  ladies  in  waiting,  and  the  royal  family.  Daily  the  mock 
prince  was  received  with  elaborate  ceremonials  borrowed  by  Tom  from 
his  romantic  readings ;  daily  the  great  affairs  of  the  mimic  kingdom, 
were  discussed  in  the  royal  council,  and  daily  his  mimic  highness 
issued  decrees  to  his  imaginary  armies,  navies,  and  viceroyalties. 

After  which,  he  would  go  forth  in  his  rags  and  beg  a  few  farthings. 


-^C-^S^ 


BROUGHT  THEIK   PERPLEXITIES   TO 
TOM." 


TOM'S   EARLY   LIFE. 


33 


eat  his  poor  crust,  take  his  customary  cuffs  and  abuse,  and  then  stretch 
himself  upon  his  handful  of  foul  straw,  and  resume  his  empty  gran- 
deurs in  his  dreams. 

And  still  his  desire  to  look  just  once  upon  a  real  prince,  in  the 


flesh,  grew  upon 
day,    and    week 
at     last     it    ab- 
desires,  and  be- 
passion    of     his 
One  January 
al  begging  tour, 
spondently      up 
region   round 
Lane  and  Little 
after  hour,  bare-footed 
at  cook-shop  windows 
dreadful  pork-pies  and 
tions  displayed  there 
were  dainties  fit   for 
judging  by  the  smell, 
never  been  his  good 
one.       There    was    a 


LONGING    FOH   THE    PORK- 
PIES." 


him,  day  by 
by  week,  until 
sorbed  all  other 
came  the  one 
life. 

day,  on  his  usu- 
he  tramped  de- 
and  down  the 
about  Mincing 
East  Cheap,  hour 
and  cold,  looking  in 
and  longing  for  the 
other  deadly  inven- 
—  for  to  him  these 
the  angels ;  that  is, 
they  were  —  for  it  had 
luck  to  own  and  eat 
cold  drizzle  of  rain ; 


the  atmosphere  was  murky ;  it  was  a  melancholy  day.  At  night  Tom 
reached  home  so  wet  and  tired  and  hungry  that  it  was  not  possible 
for  his  father  and  gTandmother  to  observe  his  forlorn  condition  and 
not  be  moved  —  after  their  fashion ;  wherefore  they  gave  him  a  brisk 
cuffing  at  once  and  sent  him  to  bed.  For  a  long  time  his  pain  and 
hunger,  and  the  swearing  and  fighting  going  on  in  the  building,  kept 
him  awake ;  but  at  last  his  thoughts  drifted  away  to  far,  romantic 
lands,  and  he  fell  asleep  in  the  company  of  jewelled  and  gilded  prince- 
lings who  lived  in  vast  palaces,  and  had  servants  salaaming  before 


34  TOM'S  EARLY  LIFE. 

them  or  flying  to  execute  their  orders.  And  then,  as  usual,  he 
dreamed  that  he  was  a  princeling  himself. 

All  night  long  the  glories  of  his  royal  estate  shone  upon  hin/Nhe 
moved  among  great  lords  and  ladies,  in  a  blaze  of  light,  breathing 
perfumes,  drinking  in  delicious  music,  and  answering  the  reverent 
obeisances  of  the  glittering  throng  as  it  parted  to  make  way  for  him, 
with  here  a  smile,  and  there  a  nod  of  his  princely  head. 

And  when  he  awoke  in  the  morning  and  looked  upon  the  wretched- 
ness about  him,  his  dream  had  had  its  usual  effect  —  it  had  intensified 
the  sordidnesss  of  his  surroundings  a  thousand  fold.  Then  came 
bitterness,  and  heart-break,  and  tears. 


CHAPTER     III 


TOM'S    MEETING    WITH    THE    PRINCE. 


Tom   got'  up  hungry,  and  sauntered   hungry  away,  but  with   his 
thoughts  busy  with  the  shadowy  splendors  of  his  night's  dreams.     He 

wandered  here  and 
there  in  the    city, 
hardly    noticing 
where  he  was  go- 
ing,   or   what  was 
happening   around 
him.      People    jos- 
tled him,  and  some 
gave     him     rough 
speech  ;  but  it  was 
all     lost     on     the 
musing  boy.      By 
and    by  he   found 
himself   at    Temple    Bar,    the 
farthest    from    home    he    had 
ever    travelled    in    that    direction.       He 
stopped  and  considered   a   moment,  then 
fell  into  his  imaginings  again,  and  passed 
on    outside    the   walls   of   London.     The 
Strand    had    ceased  to  be  a  country-road 
then,  and  regarded  itself  as  a  street,  but 

37 


AT   TEMPLE    BAK 


38  TOM'S   MEETING    WITH   THE  PlilNCE. 

by  a  strained  construction ;  for,  though  there  was  a  tolerably  compact 
row  of  houses  on  one  side  of  it,  there  were  only  some  scattering  great 
buildings  on  the  other,  these  being  palaces  of  rich  nobles,  with  ample 
and  beautiful  grounds  stretching  to  the  river,  —  grounds  that  are  now 
closely  packed  with  grim  acres  of  brick  and  stone. 

Tom  discovered  Cliaring  Village  presently,  and  rested  himself  at 
the  beautiful  cross  built  there  by  a  bereaved  king  of  earlier  days ;  then 
idled  down  a  quiet,  lovely  road,  past  the  great  cardinal's  stately  palace, 
toward  a  far  more  mighty  and  majestic  palace  beyond,  —  Westminster. 
Tom  stared  in  glad  wonder  at  the  vast  pile  of  masonry,  the  wide- 
spreading  wings,  the  frowning  bastions  and  turrets,  the  huge  stone 
gateway,  with  its  gilded  bars  and  its  magnificent  array  of  colossal 
granite  lions,  and  other  the  signs  and  symbols  of  English  royalty. 
Was  the  desire  of  his  soul  to  be  satisfied  at  last  ?  Here,  indeed,  was  a 
king's  palace.  Might  he  not  hojDc  to  see  a  prince  now,  —  a  prince  of 
flesh  and  blood,  if  Heaven  were  willing? 

At  each  side  of  the  gilded  gate  stood  a  living  statue,  that  is  to  say, 
an  erect  and  stately  and  motionless  man-at-arms,  clad  from  head  to 
heel  in  shining  steel  armor.  At  a  respectful  distance  were  many  coun- 
try folk,  and  people  from  the  city,  waiting  for  any  chance  glimpse  of 
royalty  that  might  offer.  Splendid  carriages,  with  splendid  people  in 
them  and  splendid  servants  oiitside,  were  arriving  and  departing  by 
several  other  noble  gateways  that  j^ierced  the  royal  enclosure. 

Poor  little  Tom,  in  his  rags,  approached,  and  was  moving  slow  and 
timidly  past  the  sentinels,  with  a  beating  heart  and  a  rising  hope,  when 
all  at  once  he  cauglit  sight  through  the  golden  bars  of  a  spectacle 
that  almost  made  him  shout  for  joy.  Within  was  a  comely  boy, 
tanned  and  brown  with  sturdy  out-door  sports  and  exercises,  whose 
clothing  was  all  of  lovely  silks  and  satins,  shining  with  jewels ;  at  his 
hip  a  little  jewelled  sword  and  dagger ;  dainty  buskins  on  his  feet,  with 
red  heels;  and  on  liis  head  a  jaunty  crimson  cap,  with  drooping  plumes 


T03f'S   MEETING    WITH   THE  PBINCE. 


39 


fastened  with  a  great  sparkling  gem.  Several  gorgeous  gentlemen 
stood  near, — his  servants,  without  a  doubt.  Oh!  he  was  a  prince  —  a 
prince,  a  living  prince,  a  real  prince  —  without  the  shadow  of  a  ques- 
tion ;  and  the  prayer  of  the  pauper-boy's  heart  was  answered  at  last. 

Tom's  breath  came  quick  and  short  with  ex- 
citement, and  his  eyes  grew  big  with  wonder 
and  delight.     Every  thing  gave  way  in 
his  mind  instantly  to  one  desire :  that 

was  to  get  close   to  the  prince,  and    /  WW'^    ^  f 

have  a  good,  devouring  look  at  him. 

Before     he     knew    t 

what  he  was  about,     '  *  ^^'  ~  '^^ 

he  had  his  face 
against  the  gate- 
bars.  The  next 
instant  one  of  the 
soldiers  snatched 
him  rudely  away, 
and  sent  him  spin- 
ning among  the 
gaping  crowd  of 
country  gawks 
and  London  idlers. 
The  soldier  said,  — 

''Mind  thy 
manners,  thou 
young  beggar ! " 

The     crowd 
jeered       and 
laughed ;    but    the 
young  prince  sprang  to  the  gate  with  his  face  flushed,  and  his  eyes 
flashing  with  indignation,  and  cried  out,  — 


"let  him  in!" 


40  TOM'S   MEETING    WITH   THE  PRINCE. 

"  How  dar'st  thou  use  a  poor  lad  like  that !  How  dar'st  thou  use 
the  King  my  father's  meanest  subject  so !  Open  the  gates,  and  let  him 
ill !  " 

You  should  have  seen  that  fickle  crowd  snatch  off  their  hats  then. 
You  should  have  heard  them  cheer,  and  shout,  ••'  Long  live  the  Prince 
of  Wales !  " 

The  soldiers  presented  arms  with  their  halberds,  opened  the  gates, 
and  presented  again  as  the  little  Prince  of  Poverty  passed  in,  in  his 
fluttering  rags,  to  join  hands  with  the  Prince  of  Limitless  Plenty. 

Edward  Tudor  said,  — 

"  Thou  lookest  tired  and  hungry :  thou'st  been  treated  ill.  Come 
with  me." 

Half  a  dozen  attendants  sprang  forward  to  —  I  don't  know  what ; 
interfere,  no  doubt.  But  they  were  waved  aside  with  a  right  royal 
gesture,  and  they  stopped  stock  still  where  they  were,  like  so  many 
statues.  Edward  took  Tom  to  a  rich  apartment  in  the  palace,  which 
he  called  his  cabinet.  By  his  command  a  repast  was  brought  such  as 
Tom  had  never  encountered  before  except  in  books.  The  prince,  with 
princely  delicacy  and  breeding,  sent  away  the  servants,  so  that  his 
humble  guest  might  not  be  embarrassed  by  their  critical  presence; 
then  he  sat  near  by,  and  asked  questions  while  Tom  ate. 

"  What  is  thy  name,  lad  ?  " 

"  Tom  Canty,  an'  it  please  thee,  sir." 

"  'Tis  an  odd  one.     Where  dost  live  ?  " 

"  In  the  city,  please  thee,  sir.     Offal  Court,  out  of  Pudding  Lane." 

"  Offal  Court !     Truly  'tis  another  odd  one.     Hast  parents  ?  " 

"  Parents  have  I,  sir,  and  a  grand-dam  likewise  that  is  but  indiffer- 
ently precious  to  me,  God  forgive  me  if  it  be  offence  to  say  it — also 
twin  sisters.  Nan  and  Bet." 

"  Then  is  thy  grand-dam  not  over  kind  to  thee,  I  take  it." 

"  Neither  to  any  other  is  she,  so  please  your  Worship.  She  hath  a 
wicked  heart,  and  worketh  evil  all  her  days." 


TOM'S  MEETING    WITH   THE  PRINCE. 


41 


"  Doth  she  mistreat  thee  ?  " 

"  There  be  times  that  she  stayeth  her  hand,  being  asleep  or  over- 
come with  drink ;  but  when  she  hath  her  judgment  clear  again,  she 
maketh  it  up  to  me  with  goodly  beatings." 

A  fierce  look  came  into  the  little  prince's  eyes,  and  he  cried  out,  — 

"  What !     Beatings  ?  " 

"  Oh,  indeed,  yes,  please  you,  sir." 


HOW  OLD  BE  THESE  ?  " 


'•'■Beatings!  —  and  thou  so  frail  and  little.  Hark  ye:  before  the 
night  come,  she  shall  hie  her  to  the  Tower.     The  King  my  father"  — 

"  In  sooth,  you  forget,  sir,  her  low  degree.  The  Tower  is  for  the 
great  alone." 

"  True,  indeed.  I  had  not  thought  of  that.  I  will  consider  of  her 
punishment.     Is  thy  father  kind  to  thee  ?  " 

"  Not  more  than  Gammer  Canty,  sir." 

"■  Fathers  be  alike,  mayhap.  Mine  hath  not  a  doll's  temper.  He 
smiteth  with  a  heavy  hand,  yet  spareth  me  :  he  spareth  me  not  always 


42  TOM'S  MEETING    WITH   THE  PRINCE. 

with  his  tongue,  though,  sooth  to  say.  How  doth  thy  mother  use 
thee?" 

"She  is  good,  sir,  and  giveth  me  neither  sorrow  nor  pain  of  any 
sort.     And  Nan  and  Bet  are  like  to  her  in  this." 

"  How  old  be  these  ?  " 

"  Fifteen,  an'  it  please  you,  sir." 

"  The  Lady  Elizabeth,  my  sister,  is  fourteen,  and  the  Lady  Jane 
Grey,  my  cousin,  is  of  mine  own  age,  and  comely  and  gracious  withal ; 
but  my  sister  the  Lady  Mary,  with  her  gloomy  mien  and —  Look 
you :  do  thy  sisters  forbid  their  servants  tcf  smile,  lest  the  sin  destroy 

their  souls  ?  " 

"They?     Oh,  dost  think,  sir,  that  thei/  have  servants?" 

The  little  prince  contemplated  the  little  pauper  gravely  a  moment, 
then  said,  — 

"And  prithee,  why  not?  Who  helpeth  them  undress  at  night? 
who  attireth  them  when  they  rise?" 

"  None,  sir.  Wouldst  have  them  take  off  their  garment,  and  sleep 
without,  —  like  the  beasts  ?  " 

"  Their  garment !     Have  they  but  one  ?  " 

"  Ah,  good  your  worship,  what  would  they  do  with  more  ?  Truly 
they  have  not  two  bodies  each." 

"  It  is  a  quaint  and  marvellous  thought !  Thy  pardon,  I  had  not 
meant  to  laugh.  But  thy  good  Nan  and  thy  Bet  shall  have  raiment 
and  lackeys  enow,  and  that  soon,  too  :  my  cofferer  shall  look  to  it. 
No,  thank  me  not;  'tis  nothing.  Thou  speakest  well;  thou  hast  an 
easy  grace  in  it.     Art  learned  ?  " 

"  I  know  not  if  I  am  or  not,  sir.  The  good  priest  that  is  called 
Father  Andrew  taught  me,  of  his  kindness,  from  his  books." 

"  Know'st  thou  the  Latin  ?  " 

"  But  scantly,  sir,  I  doubt." 

"  Learn  it,  lad :  'tis  hard  only  at  first.     The  Greek  is  harder ;  but 


TOM'S  MEETING    WITH   THE  PRINCE. 


43 


neither 


these  nor  any  tongues  else,  I  think,  are  hard,  to  the  Lady  Eliza- 
beth and  my  cousin.     Thou  shouldst  hear  those 
damsels   at   it !      But   tell  me  of  thy  Offal 
Court.     Hast  thou  a  pleasant  life  there  ?  " 
"In  truth,  yes,  so  please  you,  sir, 
save  when  one  is  hungry.     There  be 
PH  illillA      Punch-and-Jucly   shows,    and    mon- 
ke}  s,  —  oh,   such  antic    creatures  ! 
and.    so    bravely    dressed !  —  and 
theie  be  plays  wherein  they  that 


"DOFF  THY   KAGS,    AND   DON  THESE    SPLENDOIiS.' 

play  do  shout  and  fight  till  all  are  slain, 
and  'tis  so  fine  to  see,  and  costeth  but  a 
farthing  —  albeit  'tis  main  hard   to  get  the 


farthing,  please  your  worship." 
"  Tell  me  more." 


44  TOM'S   MEETING    WITH    THE  PRINCE. 

"We  lads  of  Offal  Court  do  strive  against  each  other  with  the 
cudgel,  like  to  the  fashion  of  the  'prentices,  sometimes." 

The  prince's  eyes  flashed.     Said  he,  — 

"  Marry,  that  would  not  I  mislike.     Tell  me  more." 

"  We  strive  in  races,  sir,  to  see  who  of  us  shall  be  fleetest." 

"  That  would  I  like  also.     Speak  on." 

"  In  summer,  sir,  we  wade  and  swim  in  the  canals  and  in  the  river. 
and  each  doth  duck  his  neighbor,  and  spatter  him  with  water,  and 
dive  and  shout  and  tumble  and  "  — 

"  'Twould  be  worth  my  father's  kingdom  but  to  enjoy  it  once ! 
Prithee  go  on." 

"■  We  dance  and  sing  about  the  Maypole  in  Cheapside ;  we  play  in 
the  sand,  each  covering  his  neighbor  up ;  and  times  we  make  mud 
pastry  —  oh  the  lovely  mud,  it  hath  not  its  like  for  delightfulness  in 
all  the  world  I  —  we  do  fairly  wallow  in  the  mud,  sir,  saving  your 
worship's  presence." 

"Oh,  prithee,  say  no  more,  'tis  glorious  !  /  If  that  I  could  but 
clothe  me  in  raiment  like  to  thine,  and  strip  my  feet,  and  revel  in  the 
mud  once,  just  once,  with  none  to  rebuke  me  or  forbid,  meseemeth  I 
could  forego  the  crown  !  " 

"  And  if  that  I  could  clothe  me  once,  sweet  sir,  as  thou  art  clad  — 
just  once  "  — 

"Oho,  wouldst  like  it?  Then  so  shall  it  be.  Doff  thy  rags,  and 
don  these  splendors,  lad !  It  is  a  brief  happiness,  but  will  be  not  less 
keen  for  that.  We  will  have  it  while  we  may,  and  change  again 
before  any  come  to  molest." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  little  Prince  of  Wales  was  garlanded  with 
Tom's  fluttering  odds  and  ends,  and  the  little  Prince  of  Pauperdom 
was  .tricked  out  in  the  gaudy  plumage  of  royalty.  The  two  went  and 
stood  side  by  side  before  a  great  mirror,  and  lo,  a  miracle:  there  did 
not  seem  to  have  been  any  change  made  !     They  stared  at  each  other, 


TOM'S   MEETING    WITH    THE  PRINCE.  45 

then  at  the  glass,  then  at  each  other  again.  At  last  the  puzzled  prince- 
ling said,  — 

"Wliat  dost  then  make  of  this?" 

"  Ah,  good  your  worship,  require  me  not  to  answer.  It  is  not 
meet  that  one  of  my  degree  should  utter  the  thing." 

"  Then  will  /utter  it.  Thou  hast  the  same  hair,  the  same  eyes,  the 
same  voice  and  manner,  the  same  form  and  stature,  the  same  face  and 
countenance,  that  1  bear.  Fared  we  forth  naked,  there  is  none  could 
say  which  was  you,  and  which  the  Prince  of  Wales.  And,  now  that  I 
am  clothed  as  thou  wert  clothed,  it  seemeth  I  should  be  able  the  more 
nearly  to  feel  as  thou  didst  when  the  brute  soldier  —  Hark  ye,  is  not 
this  a  bruise  upon  your  hand  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  it  is  a  slight  thing,  and  your  worship  ■  knoweth  that  the 
poor  man-at-arms "'  — 

"  Peace !  It  was  a  shameful  thing  and  a  cruel ! "  cried  the  little 
prince,  stamping  his  bare  foot.  "  If  the  King  —  Stir  not  a  step  tOl 
I  come  again  I     It  is  a  command  !  " 

In  a  moment  he  had  snatched  up  and  put  away  an  article  of 
national  importance  that  lay  upon  a  table,  and  was  out  at  the  door 
and  flying  through  the  palace  grounds  in  his  bannered  rags,  with  a  hot 
face  and  glowing  eyes.  As  soon  as  he  reached  the  great  gate,  he 
seized  the  bars,  and  tried  to  shake  them,  shouting,  — 

"  Open  !     Unbar  the  gates  !  " 

The  soldier  that  had  maltreated  Tom  obeyed  promptly;  and  as 
the  prince  burst  through  the  portal,  half-smothered  with  royal  wrath, 
the  soldier  fetched  him  a  sounding  box  on  the  ear  that  sent  him  whirl- 
ing to  the  roadway,  and  said,  — 

"■  Take  that,  thou  beggar's  spawn,  for  what  thou  got'st  me  from  his 
Highness ! " 

The  crowd  roared  with  laughter.  The  prince  picked  himself  out 
of  the  mud,  and  made  fiercely  at  the  sentry,  shouting,  — 


46 


TOM'S  MEETING    WITH    THE  PRINCE 


"I   am   the   Prince    of   Wales,  my  person   is 
sacred  ;  and  thou  shalt  hang  for  laying  thy 
hand  upon  me  !  " 

The  soldier  brought  his  halberd 
to  a  present-arms  and  said  mock- 
ingly, — 

"I  salute  your  gracious  High- 
ness/' Then  angrily,  "  Be  off,  thou 
crazy  rubbish ! " 

Here  the  jeering  crowd  closed 
around  the  poor  little  prince,  and 
hustled  him  far  down  the  road,  hoot- 
ing him,  and  shouting,  "Way  for  his 
royal  Highness !  way  for  the  Prince  of 
Wales!" 


"I  SALUTE  YOUR   GRACIOUS   HIGHNESS P' 


CHAPTER    IV, 


THE   PRINCE'S   TROUBLES  BEGIN. 


After  hours  of  persistent  pursuit  and  persecution,  the  little  prince 
was  at  last  deserted  by  the  rabble  and  left  to  himself.  As  long  as  he 
had  been  able  to  rage  against  the  mob,  and  threaten  it  royally,  and 
royally  utter  commands  that  were  good  stuff  to  laugh  at,  he  was  very 
entertaining ;  but  when  weariness  finally  forced  him  to  be  silent,  he 
was  no  longer  of  use  to  his  tormentors,  and  they  sought  amusement 
elsewhere.  He  looked  about  him,  now,  but  could  not  recognize  the 
localit}'.  He  was  within  the  city  of  London  —  that  was  all  he  knew. 
He  moved  on,  aimlessly,  and  in  a  little  while  the  houses  thinned,  and 
the  passers-by  were  infrequent.  He  bathed  his  bleeding  feet  in  the 
brook  which  flowed  then  where  Farringdon  street  now  is ;  rested  a  few 
moments,  then  passed  on,  and  presently  came  upon  a  great  space  with 
only  a  few  scattered  houses  in  it,  and  a  prodigious  church.  He  recog- 
nized this  church.  Scaffoldings  were  about,  everywhere,  and  swarms 
of  workmen ;  for  it  was  undergoing  elaborate  repairs.  The  prince 
took  heart  at  once  —  he  felt  that  his  troubles  were  at  an  end,  now. 
He  said  to  himself,  ''  It  is  the  ancient  Grey  Friars'  church,  which  the 
king  my  father  hath  taken  from  the  monks  and  given  for  a  home  for- 
ever for  poor  and  forsaken  children,  and  new-named  it  Christ's  Church. 
Right  gladly  will  they  serve  the  son  of  him  who  hath  done  so  gener- 
ously by  them  —  and  the  more  that  that  son  is  himself  as  poor  and  as 
forlorn  as  any  that  be  sheltered  here  this  day,  or  ever  shall  be." 

He  was  soon  in  the  midst  of  a  crowd  of  boys  who  were  running, 

49 


60 


THE  PRINCE'S    TROUBLES  BEGIN. 


jumping,  playing  at  ball  and  leap-frog  and  otherwise  disporting  them- 
selves, and  right  noisily,  too.  They  were  all  dressed  alike,  and  in  the 
fashion  which  in  that  day  prevailed  among  serving-men  and  'prentices  ^ 
—  that  is  to  say,  each  had  on  the  crown  of  his  head  a  flat  black  cap 
about  the  size  of  a  saucer,  which  was  not  useful  as  a  covering,  it  being 
of  such  scanty  dimensions,  neither  was  it  ornamental ;  from  beneath  it 


"set  upon  by  dogs." 


the  hair  fell,  unparLed,  to  the  middle  of  the  forehead,  and  was  cropped 
straight  around ;  a  clerical  band  at  the  neck ;  a  blue  gown  that  fitted 
closely  and  hung  as  low  as  the  knees  or  lower ;  full  sleeves ;  a  broad 
red  belt ;  bright  yellow  stockings,  gartered  above  the  knees ;  low  shoes 
with  large  metal  buckles.  It  was  a  sufficiently  ugly  costume. 
1  See  Note  1,  at  end  of  the  volume. 


THE  PRINCE'S    TROUBLES   BEGIN.  51 

The  boys  stopped  their  play  and  flocked  about  the  prince,  who  said 
with  native  dignity  — 

"  Good  lads,  say  to  your  master  that  Edward  Prince  of  Wales 
desireth  speech  with  him." 

A  great  shout  went  up,  at  this,  and  one  rude  fellow  said  — 

"  Marry,  art  thou  his  grace's  messenger,  beggar  ?  " 

The  prince's  face  flushed  with  anger,  and  his  ready  hand  flew  to 
his  hip,  but  there  was  nothing  there.  There  was  a  storm  of  laughter, 
and  one  boy  said  — 

"  Didst  mark  that  ?  He  fancied  he  had  a  sword  —  belike  he  is  the 
prince  himself." 

This  sally  brought  more  laughter.  Poor  Edward  drew  himself  up 
proudly  and  said  — 

"  I  am  the  prince ;  and  it  ill  beseemeth  you  that  feed  upon  the 
king  my  father's  bounty  to  use  me  so." 

This  was  vastly  enjoyed,  as  the  laughter  testified.  The  youth  who 
had  first  spoken,  shouted  to  his  comrades  — 

"  Ho,  swine,  slaves,  pensioners  of  his  grace's  princely  father,  where 
be  your  manners?  Down  on  your  marrow  bones,  all  of  ye,  and  do 
reverence  to  his  kingly  port  and  royal  rags  !  " 

With  boisterous  mirth  they  dropped  upon  their  knees  in  a  body 
and  did  mock  homage  to  their  prey.  The  prince  spurned  the  nearest 
boy  with  his  foot,  and  said  fiercely  — 

"  Take  thou  that,  till  the  morrow  come  and  I  build  thee  a  gib- 
bet ! " 

Ah,  but  this  was  not  a  joke  —  this  was  going  beyond  fun.  The 
laughter  ceased  on  the  instant,  and  fury  took  its  place.  A  dozen 
shouted  — 

"  Hale  him  forth  !  To  the  horse-pond,  to  the  horse-pond  !  Where 
be  the  dogs  ?     Ho,  there.  Lion  !>  ho.  Fangs  !  " 

Then  followed  such  a  tiling  as  England  had  never  seen  before  — 


52 


THE  PRINCE'S    TROUBLES   BEGIN. 


the  sacred  person  of  the  heir  to  the  throne  rudely  buffeted  by  plebeian 
hands,  and  set  upon  and  torn  by  dogs. 

As  night  drew  to  a  close  that  day,  the  prince  found  himself  far 
down  in  the  close-built  portion  of  the  city.  His  body  was  bruised,  his 
hands  were  bleeding,  and  his  rags  were  all  besmirched  with  mud.  He 
wandered  on  and  on,  and  grew  more  and  more  bewildered,  and  so  tired 

and  faint  he  could 
hardly  drag  one  foot 
after  the  other.  He 
had  ceased  to  ask 
questions  of  any  one, 
since  they  brought  him 
only  insult  instead  of 
information.  He  kept 
muttering  to  himself, 
"  Offal  court—  that  is 
the  name ;  if  I  can 
find  it  before  my 
strength  is  wholly  spent 
and  I  drop,  then  am  I 
saved  —  for  his  people  will 
take  me  to  the  palace  and 
prove  that  I  am  none  of 
theirs,  but  the  true  prince, 
and  I  shall  have  mine  own 
again."  And  now  and 
then  his  mind  reverted  to 
his  treatment  by  those  rude  Christ's  Hospital  boys,  and  he  said. 
"When  I  am  king,  they  shall  not  have  bread  and  shelter  only,  but 
also  teachings  out  of  books ;  for  a  full  belly  is  little  worth  Avhere  the 
mind  is  starved,  and  the  heart.     I  will  keep  this  diligently  in  my  re- 


but 


A   UKUNKKN   KUFFIAIS    COLLAKKD    IIIM. 


THE   PRINCE'S    TROUBLES  BEGIN.  53 

membrance,  that  this  day's  lesson  be  not  lost  upon  me,  and  my  people 
suffer  thereby;  for  learning  softeneth  the  heart  and  breedeth  gentle- 
ness and  charity."  ^ 

The  lights  began  to  twinkle,  it  came  on  to  rain,  the  wind  rose,  and 
a  raw  and  gusty  night  set  in.  The  houseless  prince,  the  homeless  heir 
to  the  throne  of  England,  still  moved  on,  drifting  deeper  into  the 
maze  of  squalid  alleys  where  the  swarming  hives  of  poverty  and 
misery  were  massed  together. 

Suddenly  a  great  drunken  ruffian  collared  him  and  said  — 

"  Out  to  this  time  of  night  again,  and  hast  not  brought  a  farthing 
home,  I  warrant  me  !  If  it  be  so,  an'  I  do  not  break  all  the  bones  in 
thy  lean  body,  then  am  I  not  John  Canty,  but  some  other." 

The  prince  twisted  himself  loose,  unconsciously  brushed  his  pro- 
faned shoulder,  and  eagerly  said  — 

"  O,  art  his  father,  truly  ?  Sweet  heaven  grant  it  be  so  —  then  wilt 
thou  fetch  him  away  and  restore  me  !  " 

'■' Jlis  father?  I  know  not  what  thou  mean'st;  I  but  know  I  am 
thi/  father,  as  thou  shalt  soon  have  cause  to  "  — 

"  O,  jest  not,  palter  not,  delay  not !  —  I  am  worn,  I  am  wounded, 
I  can  bear  no  more.  Take  me  to  the  king  my  father,  and  he  will 
make  thee  rich  beyond  thy  wildest  dreams.  Believe  me,  man,  believe 
me  I  —  I  speak  no  lie,  but  only  the  truth !  —  put  forth  thy  hand  and 
save  me  !     I  am  indeed  the  Prince  of  Wales  !  " 

The  man  stared  down,  stupefied,  upon  the  lad,  then  shook  his  head 
and  muttered  — 

"  Gone  stark  mad  as  any  Tom  o'  Bedlam ! "  —  then  collared  him 
once  more,  and  said  with  a  coarse  laugh  and  an  oath,  "  But  mad  or  no 
mad,  I  and  thy  Gammer  Canty  will  soon  find  where  the  soft  places  in 
thy  bones  lie,  or  I'm  no  true  man !  " 

With  this  he  dragged  the  frantic  and  struggling  prince  away,  and 
disappeared  up  a  front  court  followed  by  a  delighted  and  noisy  swarm 
of  human  vermin. 

1  See  Note  2,  at  end  of  the  volume. 


CHAPTER   V. 


TOM   AS  A   PATRICIAN. 


Tom  Canty,  left  alone  in  the  prince's  cabinet,  made  good  use  of 
his  opportunity.  He  turned 
himself  this  way  and  that  be- 
fore the  great  mirror,  admiring 
his  finery ;  then  walked  away, 
imitating  the  prince's  high-bred 
carriage,  and  still  observing  re- 
sults in  the  glass.  Next  he 
drew  the  beautiful  sword,  and 
bowed,  kissing  the  blade,  and 
laying  it  across  his  breast,  as 
he  had  seen  a  noble  knight  do, 
by  way  of  salute  to  the  lieu- 
tenant of  the  Tower,  five  or 
six  weeks  before,  when  deliv- 
ering the  great  lords  of  Norfolk 
and  Surrey  into  his  hands  for 
captivity.  Tom  played  with 
the  jewelled  dagger  that  hung 
upon  his  thigh ;  he  examined 
the  costly  and  exquisite  orna- 
ments  of  the    room  ;    he    tried 

each  of  the  sumptuous  chairs,  and  thought  how  proud  he  would  be  if 

67 


"next  he  dkew  the  swobd." 


68 


TOM  AS  A    PATRICIAN. 


the  Offal  Court  herd  could  only  peep  in  and  see  him  in  his  grandeur. 
He  wondered  if  they  would  believe  the  marvellous  tale  he  should  tell 
when  he  got  home,  or  if  they  would  shake  their  heads,  and  say  his 
overtaxed  imagination  had  at  last  upset  his  reason. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  the 
prince  was  gone  a  long  time ;  then  right  away  he  began  to  feel  lonely ; 


-— ,^r 


very  soon  he  fell  to  listening  and  longing, 
and  ceased  to  toy  with  the  pretty  things 
about  him ;  he  grew  uneasy,  then  rest- 
less, then  distressed.  Suppose  some  one 
should .  come,  and  catch  hira  in  the 
prince's  clothes,  and  the  prince  not  there  to  explain.  Might  they 
not  hang  him  at  once,  and  inquire  into  his  case  afterward?  He  had 
heard  that  the  great  were  prompt  about  small  matters.  His  fears  rose 
higher  and  higher;  and  trembling  he  softly  opened  tlie  door  to  the 


TOM  AS   A    PATRICIAN. 


59 


antechamber,  resolved  to  fly  and  seek  the  prince,  and,  through  him, 
protection  and  release.  Six  gorgeous  gentlemen-servants  and  two 
young  pages  of  high  degree,  clothed  like  butterflies,  sprung  to  their 
feet,  and  bowed  low  before  him.  He  stepped  quickly  back,  and  shut 
the  door.     He  said,  — 

"  Oh,  they  mock  at  me !     They  will  go  and  tell.     Oh !  why  came 
I  here  to  cast  away  my  life  ? " 

He  walked   up   and   down   the    floor, 
filled  with  nameless  fears,  listening,  start-  ,;'.,/      ^      ,//, 

ing   at   every  trifling    sound.      Presently  ^' i  ' '/S/'//J<?IVw/ 

the  door  swung  open,  and  a  silken  page        /|^^»''  '^^H^^^M 
said,—  Tm    11/^'^.   Jilt 

"  The  Lady  Jane  Grey." 


"the  boy  was  on  his  knees. 


The  door  closed,  and  a  sweet  young  girl,  richly  clad,  bounded 
toward  him.  But  she  stopped  suddenly,  and  said  in  a  distressed 
voice,  — 

"  Oh,  what  aileth  thee,  my  lord  ?  " 


60  TOM  as;   A    PATRICIAN. 

Tom's  breath  was  nearly  failing  him  ;  but  he  made  shift  to  stammer 
out,  — 

"  Ah,  be  merciful,  thou  !  In  sooth  I  am  no  lord,  but  only  poor 
Tom  Canty  of  Offal  Court  in  the  city.  Prithee  let  me  see  the  prince, 
and  he  will  of  his  grace  restore  to  me  my  rags,  and  let  me  hence 
unhurt.     Oh,  be  thou  merciful,  and  save  me !  " 

By  this  time  the  boy  was  on  his  knees,  and  supplicating  with  his 
eyes  and  uplifted  hands  as  well  as  with  his  tongue.  The  young  girl 
seemed  horror-stricken.     She  cried  out  — 

"  O  my  lord,  on  thy  knees  ?  —  and  to  me  I " 

Then  she  fled  away  in  fright ;  and  Tom,  smitten  with  despair, 
sank  down,  murmuring  — 

"  There  is  no  help,  there  is  no  hope.  Now  will  they  come  and 
take  me.'' 

Whilst  he  lay  there  benumbed  with  terror,  dreadful  tidings  were 
speeding  through  the  palace.  The  whisper,  for  it  was  whispered 
always,  flew  from  menial  to  menial,  from  lord  to  lady,  down  all  the 
long  corridors,  from  story  to  story,  from  saloon  to  saloon,  "  The  prince 
hath  gone  mad,  the  prince  hath  gone  mad ! "  Soon  every  saloon,  every 
marble  hall,  had  its  groups  of  glittering  lords  and  ladies,  and  other 
groups  of  dazzling  lesser  folk,  talking  earnestl}'^  together  in  whispers, 
and  every  face  had  in  it  dismay.  Presently  a  splendid  official  came 
marching  by  these  groups,  making  solemn  proclamation,  — 

"  In  the  Name  of  the  King  ! 

Let  none  list  to  this  false  and  foolish  matter,  upon  pain  of  death,  nor 
discuss  the  same,  nor  carry  it  abroad.     In  the  name  of  the  King !  " 

The  whisperings  ceased  as  suddenly  as  if  the  whisperers  had  been 
stricken  dumb. 

Soon  there  was  a  general  buzz  along  the  corridors,  of  "  The  prince ' 
See,  the  prince  comes  !  " 


TOM  AS  A    PATRICIAN. 


61 


Poor  Tom  came  slowly  walking  past  the  low-bowing  groups,  trying 
to  bow  in  return,  and  meekly  gazing  upon  his  strange  surroundings 
with  bewildered  and  pathetic  eyes.  Great  nobles  walked  upon  each 
side  of  him,  making  him  lean  upon  them,  and  so  steady  his  steps. 
Behind  him  followed  the  court-physicians  and  some  servants. 

Presently  Tom  found  himself  in  a  noble  apartment      . 
of  the  palace,  and  heard  the  door    close    behind  him. 
Around  him  stood  those  who  ,, 

had    come 


5=x  Before  him,  at  a  little  distance,  reclined  a 
very  large  and  very  fat  man,  with  a  wide, 
pulpy  face,  and  a  stern  expression.  His  large 
head  was  very  gray;  and  his  whiskers,  which  he  wore  only  around 
his  face,  like  a  frame,  were  gray  also.  His  clothing  was  of  rich  stuff, 
but  old,  and  slightly  frayed  in  places.  One  of  his  swollen  legs  had 
a  pillow  under  it,  and  was  wrapped  in  bandages.  There  was  silence 
now ;    and    there    was    no    head    there    but   was    bent    in    reverence, 


62 


TOM  AS   A   PATRICIAN. 


except  this  man's.  This  stern-countenanced  invalid  was  the  dread 
Henry  VIII.  He  said,  —  and  his  face  grew  gentle  as  he  began  to 
speak,  — 

"  How  now,  my  lord  Edward,  my  prince  ?  Hast  been  minded  to 
cozen  me,  the  good  King  thy  father,  who  loveth  thee,  and  kindly  useth 
thee,  with  a  sorry  jest  ?  " 


"  HE   DROPPED    UPON   HIS    KNEES. 


Poor  Tom  was  listening,  as  well  as  his  dazed  faculties  would  let 
him,  to  the  beginning  of  this  speech ;  but  when  the  words  "  me  the 
good  King "  fell  upon  his  ear,  his  face  blanched,  and  he  dropped  as 
instantly  upon  his  knees  as  if  a  shot  had  brought  him  there.  Lifting 
up  his  hands,  he  exclaimed,  — 


TOM  AS  A   PATRICIAN.  63 

"  Thou  the  King?     Then  am  I  undone  indeed!  " 

This  speech  seemed  to  stun  the  King.  His  eyes  wandered  from 
face  to  face  aimlessly,  then  rested,  bewildered,  upon  the  boy  before 
him.     Then  he  said  in  a  tone  of  deep  disappointment,  — 

"  Alack,  I  had  believed  the  rumor  disproportioned  to  the  truth ; 
but  I  fear  me  'tis  not  so."  He  breathed  a  heavy  sigh,  and  said  in  a 
gentle  voice,  "  Come  to  thy  father,  child :  thou  art  not  well." 

Tom  was  assisted  to  his  feet,  and  approached  the  Majesty  of 
England,  humble  and  trembling.  The  King  took  the  frightened  face 
between  his  hands,  and  gazed  earnestly  and  lovingly  into  it  a  while, 
as  if  seeking  some  grateful  sign  of  returning  reason  there,  then  pressed 
the  curl}^  head  against  his  breast,  and  patted  it  tenderly.  Presently 
he  said,  — 

"Dost  not  know  thy  father,  child?  Break  not  mine  old  heart; 
say  thou  know'st  me.     Thou  dost  know  me,  dost  thou  not?" 

"  Yea :  thou  art  my  dread  lord  the  King,  whom  God  preserve ! " 

"True,  true — that  is  well  —  be  comforted,  tremble  not  so;  there 
is  none  here  would  hurt  thee ;  there  is  none  here  but  loves  thee. 
Thou  art  better  now  ;  thy  ill  dream  passeth  —  is't  not  so  ?  And  thou 
knowest  thyself  now  also  —  is't  not  so?  Thou  wilt  not  miscall  thyself 
again,  as  they  say  thou  didst  a  little  while  agone  ?  " 

"  I  pray  thee  of  thy  grace  believe  me,  I  did  but  speak  the  truth, 
most  dread  lord ;  for  I  am  the  meanest  among  thy  subjects,  being  a 
pauper  born,  and  'tis  by  a  sore  mischance  and  accident  I  am  here, 
albeit  I  was  therein  nothing  blameful.  I  am  but  young  to  die,  and 
thou  canst  save  me  with  one  little  word.     Oh  speak  it,  sir ! " 

"  Die  ?  Talk  not  so,  sweet  prince  —  peace,  peace,  to  thy  troubled 
heart  —  thou  shalt  not  die!" 

Tom  dr()i)ped  upon  his  knees  with  a  glad  cry,  — 

"  God  requite  thy  mercy,  oh  my  King,  and  save  thee  long  to  bless 
thy  land ! "     Then  springing  up,  he  turned  a  joyful  face   toward  the 


64 


rOM  AS  A   PATRICIAN. 


two  lords  in  waiting,  and  exclaimed,  "  Thou  heard'st  it !  I  am  not 
to  die :  the  King  hath  said  it ! "  There  was  no  movement,  save  that 
all  bowed  with  grave  respect  ;  but  no  one 
spoke.  He  hesitated,  a  little  confused,  then 
turned  timidly  toward  the  King,  sa}ing, 
''  I  mav  go  now  ?  " 


\ 


HE   TURNED   WITH   JOYFUL   FACE. 


"  Go  ?  Surely,  if  thou  desirest.  But  why  not  tarry  yet  a  little  ? 
Whither  wouldst  go  ?  " 

Tom  dropped  his  eyes,  and  answered  humbly,  — 

"  Peradventure  I  mistook ;  but  I  did  think  me  free,  and  so  was  I 
moved  to  seek  again  the  kennel  where  I  was  born  and  bred  to  misery, 
yet  which  harboreth  my  mother  and  my  sisters,  and  so  is  home  to 
me ;  whereas  these  pomps  and  splendors  whereunto  I  am  not  used  — 
oh,  please  you,  sir,  to  let  me  go ! " 

The  King  was  silent  and  thoughtful  a  while,  and  his  face  betrayed 


TOM  AS  A   PATRICIAN. 


65 


a  growing  distress  and  uneasiness.     Presently  he  said,  with  something 
of  hope  in  his  voice,  — 

"  Perchance  he  is  but  mad  upon  this  one  strain,  and  hath  his  wits 
unmarred  as  toucheth  other  matter.  God  send  it  may  be  so !  We 
will  make  trial." 


■  THE   PHYSICIAN   BOWED   LOW 


Then  he  asked  Tom  a  ques- 
tion in  Latin,  and  Tom  answered  him  lamely 
in  the  same  tongue.     The  King  was  delighted, 

and  showed  it.     The  lords  and  doctors  manifested  their  gratification 
also.     The  King  said,  — 

"  'Twas  not  according  to  his  schooling  and  ability,  but  sheweth 
that  his  mind  is  but  diseased,  not  stricken  fatally.  How  say  you, 
sir?" 

The  physician  addressed  bowed  low,  and  replied,  — 


66  TOM  AS   A   PATRICIAN. 

"  It  jumpeth  with  mine  own  conviction,  sire,  that  thou  hast  divined 
aright." 

The  King  looked  p^  jased  with  this  encouragement,  coming  as  it 
did  from  so  excellent  authority,  and  continued  with  good  heart,  — 

"  Now  mark  ye  all :  we  will  try  him  further." 

He  put  a  question  to  Tom  in  French.     Tom  stood  silent  a  moment, 
embarrassed   by  having  so  many  eyes   centred  upon  him,  then  said, 
diffidently,  — 

"  I  have  no  knowledge  of  this  tongue,  so  please  your  majesty." 

The  King  fell  back  upon  his  couch.  The  attendants  flew  to  his 
assistance ;  but  he  put  them  aside,  and  said,  — 

"  Trouble  me  not  —  it  is  nothing  but  a  scurvy  faintness.  Raise  me  ! 
there,  'tis  sufficient.  Come  hither,  child ;  there,  rest  thy  poor  troubled 
head  upon  thy  father's  heart,  and  be  at  peace.  Thou'lt  soon  be  well : 
'tis  but  a  passing  fantasy.  Fear  thou  not;  thou'lt  soon  be  well." 
Then  he  turned  toward  the  company :  his  gentle  manner  changed,  and 
baleful  lightnings  began  to  play  from  his  eyes.     He  said,  — 

"  List  ye  all !  This  my  son  is  mad ;  but  it  is  not  permanent.  Over- 
study  hath  done  this,  and  somewhat  too  much  of  confinement.  Away 
with  his  books  and  teachers !  see  ye  to  it.  Pleasure  him  with  sports, 
beguile  him  in  wholesome  ways,  so  that  his  health  come  again."  He 
raised  himself  higher  still,  and  went  on  with  energy,  "  He  is  mad ;  but 
he  is  my  son,  and  England's  heir ;  and,  mad  or  sane,  still  shall  he  reign ! 
And  hear  ye  further,  and  proclaim  it :  whoso  speaketh  of  tliis  his  dis- 
temper worketh  against  the  peace  and  order  of  these  realms,  and  shall 
to  the  gallows !  .  .  .  Give  me  to  drink  —  I  burn :  this  sorrow  sappeth 
my  strength.  .  .  .  There,  take  aAvay  the  cup.  .  .  .  Support  me.  There, 
that  is  well.  Mad,  is  he  ?  "Were  he  a  thousand  times  mad,  yet  is  he 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  I  the  King  will  confirm  it.  This  very  morrow 
shall  he  be  installed  in  his  princely  dignity  in  due  and  ancient  form. 
Take  instant  order  for  it,  my  lord  Hertford." 


TOM  AS  A   PATRICIAN. 


67 


One  of  the  nobles  knelt  at  the  royal  couch,  and  said,  — 

"  The  King's  majesty  knoweth  that  the  Hereditary  Great  Marshal 

of  England  lieth  attainted  in  the  Tower.     It  were  not  meet  that  one 

attainted  "  — 


"the  king  fell  back  upon  his  couch." 


"  Peace !      Insult 
not   mine   ears  with      -   ^---^^-, 
his  hated  name.     Is 

this  man  to  live  forever?  Am  I  to  be  balked  of  my  will?  Is  the 
prince  to  tarry  uninstalled,  because,  forsooth,  the  realm  lacketh  an 
earl  marshal  free  of  treasonable  taint  to  invest  him  with  his  honors? 
No,  by  the  splendor  of  God !  Warn  my  parliament  to  bring  m^e 
Norfolk's  doom  before  the  sun  rise  again,  else  shall  they  answer  for  it 
grievously ! "  ^ 

Lord  Hertford  said,  — 

"  The   King's  will  is   law ; "  and,   rising,  returned   to   his   former 
place. 

1  See  Note  3,  at  end  of  the  volume. 


68 


TOM  AS   A   PATRICIAN. 


Gradually  the   wrath    faded   out  of  the   old   King's  face,   and   he 
said,  — 

" Kiss  me,  111}' prince.     There  .  .  .  what  fearest  thou?     Am  I  not 
thy  loving  father?  " 

"Thou    art    good   to   me    that        iV    M  ^      ' 

am    unworthy,    O    mighty  and        -^j^^'A^t'^^t' (f^-'/'t^i 
gracious  lord:    that    in  truth         ,Ll^SMBk.^lif^i  i* V^ilU  Ijl  ),|,: 


IS   THIS   MAN  TO    LIVE   FOKEVEK? 


I  know.  But  —  but  —  it  grieveth  me  to  think  of  him  that  is  to  die, 
and"  — 

"  Ah,  'tis  like  thee,  'tis  like  thee  !  I  know  thy  heart  is  still  the 
same,  even  though  thy  mind  hath  suffered  hurt,  for  thou  wert  ever 
of  a  gentle  spirit.  But  this  duke  standeth  between  thee  and  thine 
honors :  I  will  have  another  in  his  stead  that  shall  bring  no  taint  to 
his  great  office.  Comfort  thee,  my  prince :  trouble  not  thy  poor  head 
with  this  matter." 

"  But  is  it  not  I  that  speed  him  hence,  ni}'  liege  ?  How  long  might 
he  not  live,  but  for  me  ?  " 


TOM  AS  A    PATRICIAN.  69 

"  Take  no  thought  of  him,  my  prince  :  he  is  not  worthy.  Kiss  me 
once  again,  and  go  to  thy  trifles  and  amusements ;  for  my  mahxdy  dis- 
tresseth  me.  I  am  aweary,  and  would  rest.  Go  with  thine  uncle 
Hertford  and  thy  people,  and  come  again  when  my  body  is  refreshed." 

Tom,  heavy-hearted,  was  conducted  from  tlie  presence,  for  this  last 
sentence  was  a  death-blow  to  the  hope  he  had  cherished  that  now  he 
would  be  set  free.  Once  more  he  heard  the  buzz  of  low  voices  ex- 
claiming, "  The  j)rince,  the  prince  comes  !  " 

His  spirits  sank  lower  and  lower  as  he  moved  between  the  glitter- 
ing files  of  bowing  courtiers ;  for  he  recognized  that  he  was  indeed  a 
captive  now,  and  might  remain  forever  shut  up  in  this  gilded  cage, 
a  forlorn  and  friendless  prince,  except  God  in  his  mercy  take  pity  on 
him'  and  set  him  free. 

And,  turn  where  he  would,  he  seemed  to  see  floating  in  the  air 
the  severed  head  and  the  remembered  face  of  the  great  Duke  of 
Norfolk,  the  eyes  fixed  on  him  reproachfully. 

His  old  dreams  had  been  so  pleasant ;  but  this  reality  was  so 
dreary ! 


KgceVes  iigsiti^ig: 


CHAPTER    VI 


TOM  RECEIVES  INSTRUCTIONS. 


suite, 
there 


Tom  was  conducted  to  the  principal  apartment  of  a  noble 
and  made  to  sit  down  —  a  thing  which  he  was  loath  to  do,  since 
were  elderly  men  and  men  of  high  degree 
about  him.  He  begged  them  to  be  seat- 
ed, also,  but  they  only  bowed  their  thanks 
or  murmured  them,  and  remained  stand- 
ing. He  would  have  insisted,  but  his 
"  uncle  "  the  earl  of  Hertford  whispered 
in  his  ear  — 

"  Prithee,  insist  not,  m}^  lord ;  it  is 
not  meet  that  they  sit  in  thy  pres- 
ence." 

The  lord  St.  John  was  an- 
nounced, and  after  making  obei- 
sance to  Tom,  he  said  — 

"I  come  upon  the  king's 
errand,  concerning  a 
matter  which  requir-  -__ 
eth  privacy.  Will  it 
please  your  royal 
highness  to  dismiss 
all  that  attend  you  here,  save  my  lord  the  earl  of  Hertford?" 

Observing  that  Tom  did  not  seem  to  know  how  to  proceed,  Hert- 

73 


"prithee,  insist  not." 


74  TOM  RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS. 

ford  whispered  him  to  make  a  sign  with  his  hand  and  not  trouble 
himself  to  speak  unless  he  chose.  When  the  waiting  gentlemen  had 
retired,  lord  St.  John  said  — 

"  His  majesty  eommandeth,  that  for  due  and  weighty  reasons  of 
state,  the  prince's  grace  shall  hide  his  infirmity  in  all  ways  that  be 
within  his  power,  till  it  be  passed  and  he  be  as  he  was  before.  To 
wit,  that  he  shall  deny  to  none  that  he  is  the  true  prince,  and  heir  to 
England's  greatness ;  that  he  shall  uphold  his  princely  dignity,  and 
shall  receive,  without  word  or  sign  of  protest,  that  reverence  and 
observance  which  unto  it  do  appertain  of  right  and  ancient  usage ; 
that  he  shall  cease  to  speak  to  any  of  that  lowly  birth  and  life  his 
malady  hath  conjured  out  of  the  unwholesome  imaginings  of  o'er- 
wrought  fancy ;  that  he  shall  strive  with  diligence  to  bring  unto  his 
memory  again  those  faces  which  he  was  wont  to  know  —  and  where 
he  faileth  he  shall  hold  his  peace,  neither  betraying  by  semblance  of 
surprise,  or  other  sign,  that  he  hath  forgot ;  that  upon  occasions  of 
state,  whensoever  any  matter  shall  perplex  him  as  to  the  thing  he 
should  do  or  the  utterance  he  should  make,  he  shall  show  nought  of 
unrest  to  the  curious  that  look  on,  but  take  advice  in  that  matter  of 
the  lord  Hertford,  or  my  humble  self,  which  are  commanded  of  the 
king  to  be  upon  this  service  and  close  at  call,  till  this  commandment 
be  dissolved.  Thus  saith  the  king's  majesty,  who  sendeth  greeting 
to  your  royal  highness  arid  prayeth  that  God  will  of  His  mercy 
quickly  heal  you  and  have  you  now  and  ever  in  His  holy  keeping." 

The  lord  St.  John  made  reverence  and  stood  aside.  Tom  replied, 
resignedly  — 

"The  king  hath  said  it.  None  may  palter  with  the  king's  com- 
mand, or  fit  it  to  his  ease,  where  it  doth  chafe,  with  deft  evasions. 
The  king  shall  be  obeyed." 

Lord  Hertford  said  — 

"  Touching  the  king's  majesty's  ordainment  concerning  books  and 


TOM  RECEIVES   INSTBUCTIONS. 


75 


such  like  serious  matters,  it  may  peradventure  please  your  highness 
to  ease  your  time  with  lightsome  entertainment,  lest  you  go  wearied 
to  the  banquet  and  suffer  harm  thereby." 

Tom's  face  showed  inquiring  surprise  ;  and  a  blush  followed  when 
he  saw  lord  St.  John's  eyes  bent  sorrowfully  upon  him.  His  lordship 
said  — 


"  Thy  memory  still  wrongeth  thee,  and  thou  hast  shown  surprise  — 
but  suffer  it  not  to  trouble  thee,  for  'tis  a  matter  that  will  not  bide, 
but  depart  with  thy  mending  malady.  My  lord  of  Hertford  speaketh 
of  the  city's  banquet  which  the  king's  majesty  did  promise  some  two 
months  flown,  your  highness  should  attend.     Thou  recallest  it  now?" 

"  It  grieves  me  to  confess  it  had  indeed  escaped  me,"  said  Tom, 
in  a  hesitating  voice  ;  and  blushed  again. 


76  TOM  RECEIVES  INSTRUCTIONS. 

At  this  moment  the  lady  Elizabeth  and  the  lady  Jane  Grey  were 
announced.  The  two  lords  exchanged  significant  glances,  and  Hert- 
ford stepped  quickly  toward  the  door.  As  the  young  girls  passed 
him,  he  said  in  a  low  voice  — 

"  I  pray  ye,  ladies,  seem  not  to  observe  his  humors,  nor  show  sur- 
prise when  his  memory  doth  lapse  —  it  will  grieve  you  to  note  how 
it  doth  stick  at  every  trifle." 

Meantime  lord  St.  John  was  saying  in  Tom's  ear  — 

"Please  you  sir,  keep  diligently  in  mind  his  majesty's  desire. 
Remember  all  thou  canst  —  seem  to  remember  all  else.  Let  them  not 
perceive  that  thou  art  much  changed  from  thy  wont,  for  thou  knowest 
how  tenderly  thy  old  play-fellows  bear  thee  in  their  hearts  and  how 
'twould  grieve  them.  Art  willing,  sir,  that  I  remain?  —  and  thine 
uncle?" 

Tom  signified  assent  with  a  gesture  and  a  murmured  word,  for  he 
was  already  learning,  and  in  his  simple  heart  was  resolved  to  acquit 
himself  as  best  he  might,  according  to  the  king's  command. 

In  spite  of  every  precaution,  the  conversation  among  the  young 
people  became  a  little  embarrassing,  at  times.  More  than  once,  in 
truth,  Tom  was  near  to  breaking  down  and  confessing  himself  unequal 
to  his  tremendous  part ;  but  the  tact  of  the  princess  Elizabeth  saved 
him,  or  a  word  from  one  or  the  other  of  the  vigilant  lords,  thrown  in 
apparently  by  chance,  had  the  same  happy  effect.  Once  the  little 
lady  Jane  turned  to  Tom  and  dismayed  him  with  this  question,  — 

"  Hast  paid  thy  duty  to  the  queen's  majesty  to-day,  my  lord  ?  " 

Tom  hesitated,  looked  distressed,  and  was  about  to  stammer  out 
something  at  hazard,  when  lord  St.  John  took  the  word  and  answered 
for  him  with  the  easy  grace  of  a  courtier  accustomed  to  encounter 
delicate  difficulties  and  to  be  ready  for  them  — 

"He  hath  indeed,  madam,  and  she  did  greatly  hearten  him,  as 
touching  his  majesty's  condition  ;  is  it  not  so,  your  highness  ?  " 


TOM    RECEIVES    INSTRUCTIONS. 


77 


Tom  mumbled  something  that  stood  for  assent,  but  felt  that 
he  was  gettmg  upon  dangerous  ground.  Somewhat  later  it  was 
mentioned  that  Tom  was  to  study  no  more  at  present,  whereupon 
her  little  ladyship  exclaimed  — 

"  'Tis  a  pity,  'tis  such  a  pity !  Thou  wert  proceeding  bravely. 
But  bide  thy  time  in  patience :  it  will  not  be  for  long.     Thou'lt  yet 


HERTFORD   AXI)   THE   PRIXCESSES. 


be  graced  with  learning  like  thy  father,  and  make  thy  tongue  master 
of  as  many  languages  as  his,  good  my  prince." 

"  My  father  !  "  cried  Tom,  off  his  guard  for  the  moment.     "  I  trow 
he  cannot  speak    his    own    so   that   any  but   the    swine    that  wallow 


78  TOM  RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS. 

in  the  styes  may  tell  his  meaning ;  and  as  for  learning  of  any  sort 
soever  "  — 

He  looked  up  and  encountered  a  solemn  wa,rning  in  my  lord  St. 
John's  eyes. 

He  stopped,  blushed,  then  continued  low  and  sadly :  "  Ah,  my 
malady  persecuteth  me  again,  and  my  mind  wandereth.  I  meant  the 
king's  grace  no  irreverence." 

'■'  We  know  it,  sir,"  said  the  princess  Elizabeth,  taking  her  "  broth- 
er's "  hand  between  her  two  palms,  respectfully  but  caressingly ; 
"trouble  not  thyself  as  to  that.  The  fault  is  none  of  thine,  but 
thy  distemper's." 

"Thou'rt  a  gentle  comforter,  sweet  lady,"  said  Tom,  gratefully, 
"  and  my  heart  moveth  me  to  thank  thee  for't,  an'  I  may  be  so  bold." 

Once  the  giddy  little  lady  Jane  lired  a  simple  Greek  phrase  at 
Tom.  The  princess  Elizabeth's  quick  eye  saw  by  the  serene  blankness 
of  the  target's  front  that  the  shaft  was  overshot ,  so  she  tranquilly 
delivered  a  return  volley  of  sounding  Greek  on  Tom's  behalf,  and 
then  straightway  changed  the  talk  to  other  matters. 

Time  wore  on  pleasantly,  and  likewise  smoothly,  on  the  whole. 
Snags  and  sandbars  grew  less  and  less  frequent,  and  Tom  grew  more 
and  more  at  his  ease,  seeing  that  all  were  so  lovingly  bent  upon  help- 
ing him  and  overlooking  his  mistakes.  When  it  came  out  that  the 
little  ladies  were  to  accompany  him  to  the  Lord  Ma3^or's  banquet  in 
the  evening,  his  heart  gave  a  bound  of  relief  and  delight,  for  he  felt 
that  he  should  not  be  friendless,  now,  among  that  multitude  of  stran- 
gers ,  whereas,  an  hour  earlier,  the  idea  of  their  going  with  him  would 
have  been  an  insupportable  terror  to  him. 

Tom's  guardian  angels,  the  two  lords,  had  had  less  comfort  in  the 
interview  than  the  other  parties  to  it.  They  felt  much  as  if  they 
were  piloting  a  great  ship  through  a  dangerous  channel ;  they  were 
on  the  alert  constantly,  and  found  their  office  no  child's  play.     Where- 


TOM  RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS. 


79 


fore,  at  last,  when  the  ladies'  visit  was  drawing  to  a  close  and  the 
lord  Guilford  Dudley  was  announced,  they  not  only  felt  that  their 
charge  had  been  sufficiently  taxed  for  the  present,  but  also  that  they 
themselves  were  not  in  the  best  condition  to  take  their  ship  back  and 
make  their  anxious  voyage  all  over  again.  So  they  respectfully  ad- 
vised Tom  to  excuse  himself,  which  he  was  very  glad  to  do,  although 
a  slight  shade  of  disappointment  might  have  been  observed  upon  my 

lady  Jane's  face  when  she  heard  the  splendid 

stripling  denied  admittance. 


SHE   MADE   REVERENCE 


There  was  a  pause,  now,  a  sort  of  waiting  silence  which 
Tom  could  not  understand.  He  glanced  at  lord  Hertford,  who  gave 
him  a  sign  —  but  he  failed  to  understand  that,  also.  The  ready  Eliza- 
beth came  to  the  rescue  with  her  usual  easy  grace.  She  made  rev- 
erence and  said,  — 

"  Have  we  leave  of  the  prince's  grace  my  brother  to  go  ?  " 

Tom  said  — 

"  Indeed  your  ladyships  can  have  whatsoever  of  me  they  will,  for 


80 


TOM  RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS. 


the  asking ;  yet  would  I  rather  give  them  any  other  thing  that  in  my 
poor  power  lieth,  than  leave  to  take  the  light  and  blessing  of  their 
presence   hence.     Give  ye  good  den,  and  God  be  with  ye ! "     Then 
he    smiled    inwardly    at    the    thought,    "'tis 
not  for  nought  I  have   dwelt  but  among 
princes  in  my  reading,  and  taught  my 
tongue  some  slight  trick  of  their  broi- 
dered  and  gracious  speech  withal !  " 

When  the  illustrious  maidens 
were  gone,  Tom  turned  wearily  to 
his  keepers  and  said  — 

"May  it  please  your  lord- 
ships to  grant  me  leave  to  go 
into  some  corner  and  rest  me  ?  " 

Lord      Hertford 
said  — 

"So  please  your 
highness,  it  is  for 
you  to  command, 
it  is  for  us  to 
obey.  That  thou 
shouldst     rest,    is 


"  OFFEUED  IT  TO  HIM  ON  A  GOLDEN  SALVER," 


indeed  a  needful  thing,  since  thou  must  journey  to  the  city  presently. " 

He  touched  a  bell,  and  a  page  appeared,  who  was  ordered  to  desire 

the  presence  of  Sir  William  Herbert.     This  gentleman  came  straight- 


7 


TOM  RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS.  81 

way,  and  conducted  Tom  to  an  inner  apartment.  Tom's  first  move- 
ment, there,  was  to  reach  for  a  cup  of  water ;  but  a  silk-and-velvet 
servitor  seized  it,  dropped  upon  one  knee,  and  offered  it  to  him  on 
a  golden  salver. 

Next,  the  tired  captive  sat  down  and  was  going  to  take  off  his 
buskins,  timidly  asking  leave  with  his  eye,  but  another  silk-and-velvet 
discomforter  went  down  upon  his  knees  and  took  the  office  from  him. 
He  made  two  or  three  further  efforts  to  help  himself,  but  being 
promptly  forestalled  each  time,  he  finally  gave  up,  with  a  sigh  of  /\^ 
resignation  and  a  murmured  "  Beshrew  me^but  I  marvel  they  do  not 
require  to  breathe  for  me  also ! "  Slippered,  and  wrapped  in  a  sumptu- 
ous robe,  he  laid  himself  down  at  last  to  rest,  but  not  to  sleep,  for 
his  head  was  too  full  of  thoughts  and  the  room  too  full  of  people. 
He  could  not  dismiss  the  former,  so  they  staid ;  he  did  not  know 
enough  to  dismiss  the  latter,  so  the}'  staid  also,  to  his  vast  regret, — 
and  theirs. 

Tom's  departure  had  left  his  two  noble  guardians  alone.  They 
mused  a  while,  with  much  head-shaking  and  walking  the  floor,  then 
lord  St.  John  said  — 

"  Plainly,  what  dost  thou  think  ?  " 

"  Plainly,  then,  this|  The  king  is  near  his  end,  my  nephew  is  mad, 
mad  will  mount  the  throne,  and  mad  remain.  God  protect  England, 
since  she  will  need  it !  " 

"  Verily  it  promiseth  so,  indeed.  But  .  .  .  have  you  no  misgivings 
as  to  .  .  .  as  to  "  .  .  . 

The  speaker  hesitated,  and  finally  stopped.  He  evidently  felt  that 
he  was  upon  delicate  ground.  Lord  Hertford  stopped  before  him, 
looked  into  his  face  with  a  clear,  frank  eye,  and  said  — 

"Speak  on  —  there  is  none  to  hear  but  me.  Misgivings  as  to 
what?" 


82 


TOM  RECEIVES  INSTRUCTIONS. 


"I  am  full  loath  to  word  the  thing  that  is  in  my  mind,  and  thou 
so  near  to  him  in  blood,  my  lord.  But  craving  pardon  if  I  do  offend, 
seemeth  it  not  strange  that  madness  could  so  change  his  port  and 
manner !  — not  but  that  his  port  and  speech  are  princely  still,  but  that 
they  differ  in  one  unweighty  trifle  or  another,  from  what  his  custom 


"they  mused  a  while." 


was  aforetime.  Seemeth  it  not  strange  that  madness  should  filch  from 
his  memory  his  father's  very  lineaments ;  the  customs  and  observances 
that  are  his  due  from  such  as  be  about  him ;  and,  leaving  him  his  Latin, 
strip  him  of  his  Greek  and  French?  My  lord,  be  not  offended,  but 
ease  my  mind  of  its  disquiet  and  receive  my  grateful  thanks.  It 
haunteth  me,  his  saying  he  was  not  the  prince,  and  so  "  — 

"  Peace,  my  lord,  thou  utterest  treason  !     Hast  forgot  the    king's 
command  ?     Remember  I  am  party  to  thy  crime,  if  I  but  listen." 


TOM   RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS. 


83 


St.  John  paled,  and  hastened  to  say  — 

"I  was  in  fault,  I  do  confess  it.  Betray  me  not,  grant  me  this 
grace  out  of  thy  courtesy,  and  I  will  neither  think  nor  speak  of  this 
thing  more.     Deal  not  hardly  with  me,  sir,  else  am  I  ruined." 

"  I  am  content,  my  lord.  So  thou  offend  not  again,  here  or  in  the 
ears  of  others,  it  shall  be  as  though  thou  hadst  not  spoken.     But  thou 


"peace,  my  lord,  thou  uttebest  treason!" 


needst  not  have  misgivings.  He  is  my  sister's  son ;  are  not  his  voice, 
his  face,  his  form,  familiar  to  me  from  his  cradle  ?  Madness  can  do 
all  the  odd  conflicting  things  thou  seest  in  him,  and  more.  Dost  not 
recall  how  that  the  old  Baron  Marley,  being  mad,  forgot  the  favor  of 
his  own  countenance  that  he  had  known  for  sixty  years,  and  held  it 


84 


TOM   RECEIVES    INSTRUCTIONS. 


was  another's;  nay,  even  claimed  he  was  the  son  of  Mary  Magdalene, 
and  that  his  head  was  made  of  Spanish  glass ;  and  sooth  to  say,  he 
suffered  none  to  touch  it,  lest  by  mischance  some  heedless  hand  might 
shiver  it.     Give  thy  misgivings  easement,  good  my  lord.     This  is  the 

very  prince,  I  know  him  well 
—  and  soon  will  be  thy  king ;  it 
may  advantage  thee  to  bear  this 
in  mind  and  more  dwell  upon  it 
than  the  other." 

After  some  further  talk,  in 
which  the  lord  St.  John  covered 
up  his  mistake  as  well  as  he  could 
by  repeated  protests  that  his  faith 
was  thoroughly  grounded,  now, 
and  could  not  be  assailed  by 
doubts  again,  the  lord  Hertford 
relieved  his  fellow  keeper,  and  sat 
down  to  keep  watch  and  ward 
alone.  He  was  soon  '  deep  in 
meditation.  And  evidently  the 
longer  he  thought,  the  more  he 
was  bothered.  By  and  by  he 
began  to  pace  the  floor  and 
mutter. 

"  Tush,  he  must  be  the  prince  ! 
Will  any  he  in  all  the  land  main- 
tain there  can  be  two,  not  of  one 
blood  and  birth,  so  marvellousl}^ 
twinned?  And  even  were  it  so,  'twere  yet  a  stranger  miracle  that 
chance  should  cast  the  one  into  the  other's  place.  Nay,  'tis  folly, 
folly,  folly ! " 


HE  BEGAN  TO  PACE  THE  FLOOK. 


TOM  RECEIVES   INSTRUCTIONS.  85 

Presently  he  said  — 

"  Now  were  he  impostor  and  called  himself  prince,  look  you  that 
would  be  natural;  that  would  be  reasonable.  But  lived  ever  an  im- 
postor yet,  who,  being  called  prince  by  the  king,  prince  by  the  court, 
prince  by  all,  denied  his  dignity  and  pleaded  against  his  exaltation  ? 
No !  By  the  soul  of  St.  S within,  no !  This  is  the  true  prince,  gone 
mad ! " 


CHAPTER   VIL 


TOM'S    FIRST    ROYAL    DINNER. 


Somewhat  after  one  in  the  afternoon,  Tom  resignedly  underwent 
the  ordeal  of  being  dressed  for  dinner.     He  found 
himself  as  finely  clothed  as  before,  but  every  thing 
different,  every  thing  changed,  from  his  ruff  to  his 
stockings.     He  was  presently  conducted  with  much 
state  to  a  spacious  and  ornate  apart- 
ment, where  a    table  was  already  set 
for    one.      Its    furniture    was    all    of 
massy    gold,    and    beautified    with 
designs    which    well-nigh    made    it 
priceless,  since  they  were  the 
work   of   Benvenuto.      The 
room    was   half    filled    with 
noble  servitors.     A  chaplain 

TASTtNED    A    NAPKIN  ^ 

ABOUT  HIS  NECK."  Said  gracc,  and  Tom  was  about 
to  fall  to,  for  hunger  had  long 
been  constitutional  with  him,  but  was  interrupted 
by  my  lord  the  Earl  of  Berkeley,  who  fastened 
a  napkin  about  his  neck  ;  for  the  great  post  of 
Diaperers  to  the  Princes  of  Wales  was  hereditary 
in  this  nobleman's  family.  Tom's  cup-bearer  was 
present,  and  forestalled  all  his  attempts  to  help 
himself  to  wine.     The  Taster  to  his  highness  the 

89 


90  TOM'S   FIRST  ROYAL   DINNER. 

Prince  of  Wales  was  there  also,  prepared  to  taste  any  suspicious  dish 
upon  requirement,  and  run  the  risk  of  being  poisoned.  He  was  only 
an  ornamental  appendage  at  this  time,  and  was  seldom  called  upon  to 
exercise  his  function ;  but  there  had  been  times,  not  many  generations 
past,  when  the  office  of  taster  had  its  perils,  and  was  not  a  grandeur 
to  be  desired.  Why  they  did  not  use  a  dog  or  a  plumber  seems 
strange ;  but  all  the  ways  of  royalty  are  strange.  My  lord  d'Arcy, 
First  Groom  of  the  Chamber,  was  there,  to  do  goodness  knows 
what;  but  there  he  was  —  let  that  suffice.  The  Lord  Chief  Butler 
was  there,  and  stood  behind  Tom's  chair,  overseeing  the  solemnities, 
under  command  of  the  Lord  Great  Steward  and  the  Lord  Head 
Cook,  who  stood  near.  Tom  had  three  hundred  and  eighty-four 
servants  beside  these ;  but  they  were  not  all  in  that  room,  of  course, 
nor  the  quarter  of  them ;  neither  was  Tom  aware  yet  that  they 
existed. 

i\.ll  those  that  were  present  had  been  well  drilled  within  the  hour 
to  remember  that  the  prince  was  temporarily  out  of  his  head,  and  to 
be  careful  to  show  no  surprise  at  his  vagaries.  These  "  vagaries  "  were 
soon  on  exhibition  before  them ;  but  they  only  moved  their  compassion 
and  their  sorrow,  not  their  mirth.  It  was  a  heavy  affliction  to  them 
to  see  the  beloved  prince  so  stricken. 

Poor  Tom  ate  with  his  fingers  mainly ;  but  no  one  smiled  at  it,  or 
even  seemed  to  observe  it.  He  inspected  his  napkin  curiously,  and 
with  deep  interest,  for  it  was  of  a  very  dainty  and  beautiful  fabric, 
then  said  with  simplicity,  — 

"Prithee  take  it  away,  lest  in  mine  unheedfulness  it  be  soiled." 

The  Hereditary  Diaperer  took  it  away  with  reverent  manner,  and 
without  word  or  protest  of  any  sort. 

Tom  examined  the  turnips  and  the  lettuce  with  interest,  and  asked 
what  they  were,  and  if  they  were  to  be  eaten;  for  it  was  only  re- 
cently that  men  had  begun  to  raise  these  things  in  England  in  place 


TOM'S   FIRST  ROYAL    DINNER. 


91 


of  importing  them  as  luxuries  from  Holland.^  His  question  was  an- 
swered with  grave  respect,  and  no  surprise  manifested.  When  he  had 
finished  his  dessert,  he  filled  his  pockets  with  nuts ;  but  nobody  ap- 
peared to  be  aware  of  it,  or  disturbed  by  it.  But  the  next  moment 
he  was  himself  disturbed  by  it,  and 
showed  discomposure ;  for  this  was 
the  only  service  he  had  been  per- 
mitted to  do  with  his  own  hands 
during  the  meal,  and  he  did  not 
doubt  that  he  had  done  a  most 
improper  and  unprincely  thing. 
At  that  moment  the  muscles  of 
his  nose  began  to  twitch,  and  the 
end  of  that  organ  to  lift  and 
wrinkle.  This  continued,  and 
Tom  began  to  evince  a  grow- 
ing distress.  He  looked 
appealingly,  first  at  one 
and  then  another  of  the 
lords  about  him,  and  tears 
came  into  his  eyes.  They 
sprang  forward  with  dis- 
may in  their  faces,  and 
begged  to  know  his  trouble 
genuine  anguish, — 

"  I  crave  your  indulgence :  my  nose  itcheth  cruelly.  What  is  the 
custom  and  usage  in  this  emergence?  Prithee  speed,  for  'tis  but  a 
little  time  that  I  can  bear  it." 

None  smiled ;  but  all  were  sore  perplexed,  and  looked  one  to  the 
other  in  deep  tribulation  for  counsel.     But  behold,  here  was  a  dead 


TOM    ATE   WITH   HI 
FINGEKS." 


Tom    said  with 


'  See  note  4,  at  end  of  volume. 


92 


TOM'S   FIRST  ROYAL   DINNER. 


wall,  and  nothing  in  English  history  to  tell  how  to  get  over  it.  The 
Master  of  Ceremonies  was  not  present :  there  was  no  one  who  felt  safe 
to  ventnre  upon  this  uncharted  sea,  or  risk  the  attempt  to  solve  this 
solemn  problem.  Alas  !  there  was  no  Hereditary  Scratcher.  Meantime 
the  tears  had  overflowed  their  banks,  and  begun  to  trickle  down  Tom's 
cheeks.  His  twitching  nose  was  pleading  more  urgently  than  ever  for 
relief.  At  last  nature  broke  down  the  barriers  of  etiquette  :  Tom 
lifted  up  an   inward   prayer  for  pardon  if  he  was  doing  wrong,  and 

brought  relief  to  the  burdened 
hearts  of  his  court  by  scratch- 
ing his  nose  himself. 

His    meal    being   ended,    a 

lord  came  and  held  before  him 

a   broad,  shallow,  golden   dish 

with  fragrant  rose-water  in  it, 

to    cleanse    his    mouth   and 

^'      fingers   with ;   and    my   lord 

the  Hereditary  Diaperer  stood 

b}^  with  a  napkin  for  his  use. 

Tom  gazed  at  the  dish  a  puzzled  moment  or 

two,  then  raised  it  to  his  lips,  and  gravely 

took  a  draught.     Then  he  returned  it  to  the 

waiting  lord,  and  said,  — 

"  Nay,  it  likes  me  not,  my  lord :  it  hath 
a  pretty  flavor,  but  it  wanteth  strength." 
This  new  eccentricity  of  the  prince's  ruined  mind  made  all   the 
hearts  about  him  ache  ;  but  the  sad  sight  moved  none  to  merriment. 

Tom's  next  unconscious  blunder  was  to  get  up  and  leave  the  table 
just  when  the  chaplain  had  taken  his  stand  behind  his  chair,  and  with 
uplifted  hands,  and  closed,  uplifted  eyes,  was  in  the  act  of  beginning 
the  blessing.  Still  nobody  seemed  to  perceive  that  the  prince  had 
done  a  thins:  unusual. 


"  HK   GRAVELY   TOOK    A 
DKAUGHT." 


TOM'S    FIRST   ROYAL    DINNER. 


93 


By  his  own  request,  our  small  friend  was  now  conducted  to  his 
private  cabinet,  and  left  there  alone  to  his  own  devices.  Hanging 
upon  hooks  in  the  oaken  wainscoting  were  the  several  pieces  of  a 
suit  of  shining  steel  armor,  covered  all  over  with  beautiful  designs 
exquisitely  inlaid  in  gold.  This 
martial  panoply  belonged  to  the 
true  prince,  —  a  recent  present 
from  Madam  Parr  the 
Queen.  Tom  put  on 
the   greaves,   the  gaunt- 


TOM    PUT   ON   THE   GKKAVES.' 


lets,  the  plumed  helmet,  and  such 
other  pieces  as  he  could  don  with- 
out assistance,  and  for  a  while 
was  minded  to  call  for  help  and  complete  the 
matter,  but  bethought  him  of  the  nuts  he  had 
brought  away  from  dinner,  and  the  joy  it  would  be  to  eat  them  with 
no  crowd  to  eye  him,  and  no  Grand  Hereditaries  to  pester  him  with 
undesired  services ;  so  he  restored  the  pretty  things  to  their  several 
places,    and   soon    was    cracking    nuts,    and    feeling    almost    naturally 


94  TOM'S   FIRST  ROYAL   DINNER. 

happy  for  the  first  time  since  God  for  his  sins  had  made  him  a 
prince.  When  the  nuts  were  all  gone,  he  stumbled  upon  some  invit- 
ing books  in  a  closet,  among  them  one  about  the  etiquette  of  the 
English  court.  This  was  a  prize.  He  lay  down  upon  a  sumptuous 
divan,  and  proceeded  to  instruct  himself  with  honest  zeal.  Let  us 
leave  him  there  for  the  present. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE    QUESTION    OF    THE    SEAL. 

About  five  o'clock  Henry  VIII.  awoke  out  of  an  nnrefreshing  nap, 
and  muttered  to  himself,  "  Troublous  dreams,  troublous  dreams !  Mine 
end  is  now  at  hand  :  so  say  these  warnings,  and  my  failing  pulses  do 
confirm  it."  Presently  a  wicked  light  flamed  up  in  his  eye,  and  he 
muttered,  "  Yet  will  not  I  die  till  he  go  before." 

His  attendants  perceiving  that  he  was  awake,  one  of  them  asked 
his  pleasure  concerning  the  Lord  Chancellor,  who  was  waiting  without. 

"  Admit  him,  admit  him  !  "  exclaimed  the  King  eagerly. 

The  Lord  Chancellor  entered,  and  knelt  by  the  King's  couch,  say- 
ing. — 

"I  have  given  order,  and,  according  to  the  King's  command,  the 
peers  of  the  realm,  in  their  robes,  do  now  stand  at  the  bar  of  the 
House,  where,  having  confirmed  the  Duke  of  Norfolk's  doom,  they 
humbly  wait  his  majesty's  further  pleasure  in  the  matter." 

The  King's  face  lit  up  with  a  fierce  joy.     Said  he,  — 

"  Lift  me  up !  In  mine  own  person  will  I  go  before  my  Parliament, 
and  with  mine  own  hand  will  I  seal  the  warrant  that  rids  me  of"  — 

His  voice  failed ;  an  ashen  pallor  swept  the  flush  from  his  cheeks ; 
and  the  attendants  eased  him  back  upon  his  pillows,  and  hurriedly 
assisted  him  with  restoratives.     Presently  he  said  sorrowfully,  — 

"  Alack,  how  have  I  longed  for  this  sweet  hour !  and  lo,  too  late 
it  Cometh,  and  I  am  robbed  of  this  so  coveted  chance.  But  speed  ye, 
speed  ye !  let  others  do  this  happy  office  sith  'tis  denied  to  me.     I  put 

97 


98 


THE   QUESTION   OF  THE   SEAL. 


my  great  seal  in  commission :  choose  thou  the  lords  that  shall  compose 
it,  and  get  ye  to  your  work.  Speed  ye,  man !  Before  the  sun  shall 
rise  and  set  again,  bring  me  his  head  that  I  may  see  it." 

"  According  to  the  King's  command,  so  shall  it  be.  Will't  please 
your  majesty  to  order  that  the  Seal  be  now  restored  to  me,  so  that  I 
may  forth  upon  the  business  ?  " 

"  The  Seal  ?     Who  keepeth  the  Seal  but  thou  ?  " 

"Please  your  majesty,  you  did  take  it  from  me  two  days  since. 


'the  attendants  eased  IIIM  DACK  upon  ms  PILLOWS." 


saying  it  should  no 
more  do  its  office  till 
your  own  royal  hand 
should  use  it  upon 
the  Duke  of  Norfolk's 
warrant." 

"  Why,  so  in  sooth  I  did :  I  do  remember  it.  .  .  .  What  did  I  with 
it?  ...  I  am  very  feeble.  .  .  .  Su  oft  these  days  doth  my  memory 
play  the  traitor  with  me.  .  .  .   'Tis  strange,  strange  "  — 

The  King  dropped  into  inarticulate  mumblings,  shaking  his  gray 
head  weakly  from  time  to  time,  and  gropingly  trying  to  recollect  what 


THE   QUESTION    OF   THE   SEAL.  99 

he  had  done  with  the  Seal.  At  last  my  lord  Hertford  ventured  to 
kneel  and  offer  information,  — 

"  Sire,  if  that  I  may  be  so  bold,  here  be  several  that  do  remember 
with  me  how  that  you  gave  the  Great  Seal  into  the  hands  of  his  high- 
ness the  Prince  of  Wales  to  keep  against  the  day  that "  — 

''  True,  most  true  !  "  interrupted  the  King.  "  Fetch  it !  Go :  time 
flieth : " 

Lord  Hertford  flew  to  Tom,  but  returned  to  the  King  before  very 
long,  troubled  and  empty-handed.  He  delivered  himself  to  this 
effect,  — 

"  It  grieveth  me,  my  lord  the  King,  to  bear  so  heavy  and  unwelcome 
tidings ;  but  it  is  the  will  of  God  that  the  prince's  affliction  abideth 
still,  and  he  cannot  recall  to  mind  that  he  received  the  Seal.  So  came 
I  quickly  to  report,  thinking  it  were  waste  of  precious  time,  and  little 
worth  withal,  that  any  should  attempt  to  search  the  long  array  of 
chambers  and  saloons  that  belong  unto  his  royal  high  "  — 

A  groan  from  the  King  interrupted  my  lord  at  this  point.  After 
a  little  while  his  majesty  said,  with  a  deep  sadness  in  his  tone,  — 

"  Trouble  him  no  more,  poor  child.  The  hand  of  God  lieth  heavy 
upon  him,  and  my  heart  goeth  out  in  loving  compassion  for  him,  and 
sorrow  that  I  may  not  bear  his  burden  on  mine  own  old  trouble- 
weighted  shoulders,  and  so  bring  him  peace." 

He  closed  his  eyes,  fell  to  mumbling,  and  presently  was  silent. 
After  a  time  he  opened  his  eyes  again,  and  gazed  vacantly  around 
until  his  glance  rested  upon  the  kneeling  Lord  Chancellor.  Instantly 
his  face  flushed  with  wrath,  — 

"  What,  thou  here  yet !  By  the  glory  of  God,  an'  thou  gettest  not 
about  that  traitor's  business,  thy  mitre  shall  have  holiday  the  morrow 
for  lack  of  a  head  to  grace  withal !  " 

The  trembling  Chancellor  answered,  — 

"  Good  your  majesty,  I  cry  you  mercy !  I  but  waited  for  the 
Seal." 


100  THE   QUESTION    OF   THE   SEAL. 

"  Man,  hast  lost  thy  wits  ?  The  small  Seal  which  aforetime  I  was 
wont  to  take  with  me  abroad  lieth  in  my  treasury.  And,  since  the 
Great  Seal  hath  flown  away,  shall  not  it  suffice  ?  Hast  lost  thy  wits  ? 
Begone  !     And  hark  ye,  —  come  no  more  till  thou  do  bring  his  head." 

The  poor  Chancellor  was  not  long  in  removing  himself  from  this 
dangerous  vicinity ;  nor  did  the  commission  waste  time  in  giving  the 
royal  assent  to  the  work  of  the  slavish  Parliament,  and  appointing  the 
morrow  for  the  beheading  of  the  premier  peer  of  England,  the  luckless 
Duke  of  Norfolk.^ 

1  See  note  5,  at  end  of  volume. 


CHAPTER   IX. 


THE    RIVER    PAGEANT. 


At  nine  in  the  evening  the  whole  vast  river-front  of  the  palace 
was  blazing  with  light.  The  river  itself,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach 
citywards,  was  so  thickly  covered  with  watermen's  boats  and  with 
pleasure-barges,  all  fringed  with  colored  lanterns,  and  gently  agitated 
by  the  waves,  that  it  resembled  a  glowing  and  limitless  garden  of 
flowers  stirred  to  soft  motion  by  summer  winds.  The  grand  terrace 
of  stone  steps  leading  down  to  the  water,  spacious  enough  to  mass 
the  army  of  a  German  principality  upon,  was  a  picture  to  see,  with 
its  ranks  of  royal  halberdiers  in  polished  armor,  and  its  troops  of 
brilliantly  costumed  servitors  flitting  up  and  down,  and  to  and  fro,  in 
the  hurry  of  preparation. 

Presently  a  command  was  given,  and  immediately  all  living  crea- 
tures vanished  from  the  steps.  Now  the  air  was  heavy  with  the  hush 
of  suspense  and  expectancy.  As  far  as  one's  vision  could  carry,  he 
might  see  the  myriads  of  people  in  the  boats  rise  up,  and  shade  their 
eyes  from  the  glare  of  lanterns  and  torches,  and  gaze  toward  the 
palace. 

A  file  of  forty  or  fifty  state  barges  drew  up  to  the  steps.  They 
were  richl}^  gilt,  and  their  lofty  prows  and  sterns  were  elaborately 
carved.  Some  of  them  were  decorated  with  banners  and  streamers ; 
some  with  cloth-of-gold  and  arras  embroidered  with  coats-of-arms ; 
others  with  silken  flags  that  had  numberless  little  silver  bells  fastened 
to  them,  which  shook  out  tin}'  showers  of  joyous  music  whenever  the 

103 


104 


TEE  RIVER   PAGEANT. 


breezes  fluttered  them  ;    others  of  yet  higher  pretensions,  since  they 
belonged  to  nobles  in  the  prince's   imme- 
diate   service,    had    their    sides   pictui- 
esqiiely  fenced  with  shields  gorgeoiisl} 
emblazoned  with  armorial  bearings. 
Each  state  barge  was  towed  by  a 
tender.     Besides  the  rowers,  these 
tenders  carried  each  a  number  of 
men-at-arms  in  glossy  helmet  and 
breastplate,  and  a  company  of  mu- 
sicians. 


A  TKOOP   OF    HALBERDIERS   AP- 
PEARED  IN   THE   GATEWAY. 


The  advance-guard  of  the 


expected  procession  now  ap- 

'  peared  in  the  great  gateway. 

a  troop  of  halberdiers.     "  Tliey  were  dressed  in  striped  hose  of  black 

and  tawny,   velvet  caps   graced   at    the    sides  with    silver  roses,   and 


THE  RIVER   PAGEANT.  105 

doublets  of  murrey  and  blue  cloth,  embroidered  on  the  front  and 
back  with  the  three  feathers,  the  prince's  blazon,  woven  in  gold. 
Their  halberd  staves  were  covered  with  crimson  velvet,  fastened  with 
gilt  nails,  and  ornamented  with  gold  tassels.  Filing  off  on  the  right 
and  left,  they  formed  two  long  lines,  extending  from  the  gateway  of 
the  palace  to  the  water's  edge.  A  thick,  rayed  cloth  or  carpet  was 
then  unfolded,  and  laid  down  between  them  by  attendants  in  the  gold- 
and-crimson  liveries  of  the  prince.  This  done,  a  flourish  of  trumpets 
resounded  from  within.  A  lively  prelude  arose  from  the  musicians  on 
the  water ;  and  two  ushers  with  white  wands  marched  with  a  slow 
and  stately  pace  from  the  portal.  They  were  followed  by  an  officer 
bearing  the  civic  mace,  after  whom  came  another  carrying  the  city's 
sword  ;  then  several  sergeants  of  the  city  guard,  in  their  full  accoutre- 
ments, and  with  badges  on  their  sleeves ;  then  the  garter  king-at-arms, 
in  his  tabard ;  then  several  knights  of  the  bath,  each  with  a  white  lace 
on  his  sleeve ;  then  their  esquires ;  then  the  judges,  in  their  robes  of 
scarlet  and  coifs ;  then  the  lord  high  chancellor  of  England,  in  a  robe 
of  scarlet,  open  before,  and  purfled  with  minever  ;  then  a  deputation  of 
aldermen,  in  their  scarlet  cloaks ;  and  then  the  heads  of  the  different 
civic  companies,  in  their  robes  of  state.  Now  came  twelve  French 
gentlemen,  in  splendid  habiliments,  consistmg  of  pourpoints  of  white 
damask  barred  with  gold,  short  mantles  of  crimson  velvet  lined  with 
violet  taffeta,  and  carnation-colored  hauts-de-chausses.,  and  took  their 
way  down  the  steps.  They  were  of  the  suite  of  the  French  ambassa- 
dor, and  were  followed  by  twelve  cavaliers  of  the  suite  of  the  Spanish 
ambassador,  clothed  in  black  velvet,  unrelieved  by  any  ornament. 
Following  these  came  several  great  English  nobles  with  their  attend- 
ants." 

There  was  a  flourish  of  trumpets  within  ;  and  the  prince's  uncle, 
the  future  great  Duke  of  Somerset,  emerged  from  the  gateway,  ar- 
rayed  in   a   "-doublet   of  black   cloth-of-gold,  and   a   cloak   of  crimson 


106 


THK  JilVEE    PAGE  ANT. 


satin  flowered  with  gold,  and  ribanded  with  nets  of  silver."  He 
turned,  doffed  his  plumed  cap,  bent  his  body  in  a  low  reverence,  and 
began  to  step  backward,  bowing  at  each  step.  A  prolonged  trum- 
pet-blast followed,  and  a  proclamation,  "  Way  for  the  high  and 
mighty,  the  Lord  Edward,  Prince  of  Wales ! "  High  aloft  on  the 
palace  walls  a  long  line  of  red  tongues  of  flame  leaped  forth  with  a 

thunder-crash :  the  massed  world  on 
the  river  burst  into  a  mighty  roar 
of  welcome ;  and  Tom  Canty,  the 
cause  and  hero  of  it  all,  stepped 
into  view,  and  slightly  bowed  his 
princely  head. 

He  was  "magnificently  habited 
in  a  doublet  of  white  satin,  with  a 
front-piece  of  purple  cloth-of-tissue, 
powdered  with  diamonds,  and  edged 
with  ermine.  Over  this  he  wore 
a  mantle  of  white  cloth-of-gold, 
pounced  with  the  triple-feather 
crest,  lined  with  blue  satin,  set 
with  pearls  and  precious  stones, 
and  fastened  with  a  clasp  of  bril- 
liants. About  his  neck  hung  the 
order  of  the  Garter,  and  several 
princely  foreign  orders  ;  "  and  wher- 
ever light  fell  upon  him  jewels  re- 
sponded with  a  blinding  flash.  O  Tom  Canty,  born  in  a  hovel,  bred 
in  the  gutters  of  London,  familiar  with  rags  and  dirt  and  misery, 
what  a  spectacle  is  this! 


TOM   CANTY    STEPPED    INTO    VIEW.' 


CHAPTER    X. 


THE    PRINCE    IN    THE    TOILS. 


We  left  John  Canty  dragging  the  rightful  prince  into  Offal  Court, 
with  a  noisy  and  delighted  mob  at  his  heels.  There  was  but  one 
person  in  it  who  offered  a  pleading  word  for  the  captive,  and  he  was 
not  heeded  :•  he  was  hardly  even  heard,  so  great  was  the  turmoil. 
The  prince  continued  to  struggle  for  freedom,  and  to  rage  against  the 
treatment  he  was  suffering,  until  John  Canty  lost  what  little  patience 
was  left  in  him,  and  raised  his  oaken  cudgel  in  a  sudden  fury  over  the 
prince's  head.  The  single  pleader  for  the  lad  sprang  to  stop  the  man's 
arm,  and  the  blow  descended  upon  his  own  wrist.     Canty  roared  out,  — 

"  Thou'lt  meddle,  wilt  thou  ?     Then  have  thy  reward." 

His  cudgel  crashed  down  upon  the  meddler's  head :  there  was  a 
groan,  a  dim  form  sank  to  the  ground  among  the  feet  of  the  crowd, 
and  the  next  moment  it  lay  there  in  the  dark  alone.  The  mob  pressed 
on,  their  enjoyment  nothing  disturbed  by  this  episode. 

Presently  the  prince  found  himself  in  John  Canty's  abode,  with 
the  door  closed  against  the  outsiders.  By  the  vague  light  of  a  tallow 
candle  which  was  thrust  into  a  bottle,  he  made  out  the  main  features 
of  the  loathsome  den,  and  also  the  occupants  of  it.  Two  frowsy  girls 
and  a  middle-aged  woman  cowered  against  the  wall  in  one  corner, 
with  the  aspect  of  animals  habituated  to  harsh  usage,  and  expecting 
and  dreading  it  now.  From  another  corner  stole  a  withered  hag  with 
streaming  gray  hair  and  malignant  eyes.  John  Canty  said  to  this 
one,  — 

109 


110 


THE  PRINCE  IN    THE    TOILS. 


"■  Tarry  !  There's  fine  mummeries  here.  Mar  them  not  till  thou'st 
enjoyed  them ;  then  let  thy  hand  be  heavy  as  thou  wilt.  Stand 
forth,  lad.  Now  say  thy  foolery  again,  an'  thou'st  not  forgot  it.  Name 
thy  name.     Who  art  thou?  " 

The  insulted  blood  mounted  to  the  little  prince's  cheek  once  more. 


and  he  lifted 
to  the  man's 


a  steady  and   indignant  gaze 
face,  and  said, — 
ill-breeding  in  such    as    thou 
to  command  me 
^    to  speak.     I  tell 
thee    now,  as   I 
told  thee  before, 
I    am    Edward, 
Prince  of  Wales, 
and  none  other." 
The     stunn- 
ing   surprise   of 
this  reply  nailed 
the  hag's  feet  to 
the  floor  where 
she    stood,    and 
almost  took  her 
breath.  She 

stared  at  the 
prince  in  stupid 
amazement, 
which  so  amused 
her  ruffianly  son,  that  he  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  But  the  effect 
upon  Tom  Canty's  mother  and  sisters  was  different.  Their  dread  of 
bodily  injury  gave  way  at  once  to  distress  of  a  different  sort.  They 
ran  forward  with  woe  and  dismay  in  their  faces,  exclaiming,  — 


A  DIM  FOKM  SANK  TO  THE  GKOUND. 


THE  PRINCE  IN    THE   TOILS. 


Ill 


The  mother 
on    her    knees    before    the 
prince,  put  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  and 

gazed  yearningly  into  his  face   through  her  rising    tears.     Then    she 
said,  — 

"  O  my  poor  boy  !  thy  foolish  reading  hath  wrought  its  woful  work 
at  last,  and  ta'en  thy  wit  away.  Ah !  why  didst  thou  cleave  to  it 
when  I  so  warned  thee  'gainst  it  ?     Thou'st  broke  thy  mother's  heart." 

The  prince  looked  into  her  face,  and  said  gently,  — 

"  Thy  son  is  well,  and  hath  not  lost  his  wits,  good  dame.  Comfort 
thee :  let  me  to  the  palace  where  he  is,  and  straightway  will  the  King 
my  father  restore  him  to  thee." 

"The  King  thy  father!  O  my  child!  unsay  these  words  that  be 
freighted  with  death  for  thee,  and  ruin  for  all  that  be  near  to  thee. 
Shake    off    this   grewsome    dream.      Call   back   thy   poor   wandering 


112  THE  PRINCE  IN   THE    TOILS. 

memory.     Look  upon  me.     Am  not  I  thy  mother  that  bore  thee,  and 
loveth  thee?" 

The  prince  shook  his  head,  and  reluctantly  said,  — 

"  God  knoweth  I  am  loath  to  grieve  thy  heart ;  but  truly  have  I 
never  looked  upon  thy  face  before." 

The  woman  sank  back  to  a  sitting  posture  on  the  floor,  and,  cover- 
ing her  eyes  with  her  hands,  gave  way  to  heartbroken  sobs  and 
wailings. 

"  Let  the  show  go  on  !  "  shouted  Canty.  "  What,  Nan  !  what.  Bet ! 
Mannerless  wenches !  will  ye  stand  in  the  prince's  presence  ?  Upon 
your  knees,  ye  pauper  scum,  and  do  him  reverence  !  " 

He  followed  this  with  another  horse-lau^h.  The  skirls  beofan  to 
plead  timidly  for  their  brother ;  and  Nan  said,  — 

"  An'  thou  wilt  but  let  him  to  bed,  father,  rest  and  sleep  will  heal 
his  madness :  prithee,  do." 

"  Do,  father,"  said  Bet :  "  he  is  more  worn  than  is  his  wont.  To- 
morrow will  he  be  himself  again,  and  will  beg  with  diligence,  and  come 
not  empty  home  again." 

This  remark  sobered  the  father's  joviality,  and  brought  his  mmd  to 
business.     He  turned  angrily  upon  the  prince,  and  said,  — 

"  The  morrow  must  we  pay  two  pennies  to  him  that  owns  this 
hole ;  two  pennies,  mark  ye,  —  all  this  money  for  a  half-year's  rent, 
else  out  of  this  we  go.  Show  what  thou'st  gathered  with  thy  lazy 
begging." 

The  prince  said, — 

"  Offend  me  not  with  thy  sordid  matters.  I  tell  thee  again  I  am 
the  King's  son." 

A  sounding  blow  upon  the  prince's  shoulder  from  Canty's  broad 
palm  sent  him  staggering  into  goodwife  Canty's  arms,  who  clasped 
him  to  her  breast,  and  sheltered  him  from  a  pelting  rain  of  cuffs  and 
slaps  by  interposing  her  own  person.     The  frightened  girls  retreated 


THE  PRINCE  IN    THE   TOILS. 


113 


,//./'///,  j 


to  their  corner ;  but  the  grandmother  stepped  eagerly  forward  to  assist 
her  son.     The  prince  sprang  away  from  Mrs.  Canty,  exclaiming,  — 

"  Thou  shalt  not  suffer  for  me,  madam.     Let  these  swine  do  their 
will  upon  me  alone." 

This  speech  infuriated  the  swine  to  such  a  degree  that  they  set 
about  their  work  without  waste  of  time.  Between  them  they  be- 
labored the  boy  right 
soundly,  and  then  gave 
the  girls  and  their 
mother  a  beating  for 
showing  sympathy  for 
the  victim. 

"Now,"  said  Can- 
ty, "  to  bed,  all  of  ye. 
The  entertainment  has 
tired  me." 

The  light  was  put 
out,  and  the  family 
retired.  As  soon  as 
the  snorings  of  the  head  of  the  house  and  his 
mother  showed  that  they  were  asleep,  the  young 
girls  crept  to  where  the  prince  lay,  and  covered 
him  tenderly  from  the  cold  with  straw  and  rags ; 
and  their  mother  crept  to  him  also,  and  stroked  his  hair,  and  cried 
over  him,  whispering  broken  words  of  comfort  and  compassion  in  his 
ear  the  while.  She  had  saved  a  morsel  for  him  to  eat,  also ;  but  the 
boy's  pains  had  swept  away  all  appetite,  —  at  least  for  black  and 
tasteless  crusts.  He  was  touched  by  her  brave  and  costly  defence  of 
him,  and  by  her  commiseration  ;  and  he  thanked  her  in  very  noble 
and  princely  words,  and  begged  her  to  go  to  her  sleep  and  try  to 
forget  her  sorrows.      And  he   added  that  the  King  his  father  would 


"sent  him   STAGGElllXG   INTO 
GOOD  WIFE   canty' S   AKMS." 


114  THE  PRINCE  IN    THE   TOILS. 

not  let  her  loyal  kindness  and  devotion  go  unrewarded.  This  return 
to  his  "madness"  broke  her  heart  anew,  and  she  strained  him  to  her 
breast  again  and  again  and  then  went  back,  drowned  in  tears,  to  her 
bed. 

As  she  lay  thinking  and  mourning,  the  suggestion  began  to  creep 
into  her  mind  that  there  was  an  undefinable  something  about  this 
boy  that  was  lacking  in  Tom  Canty,  mad  or  sane.  She  could  not 
describe  it,  she  could  not  tell  just  what  it  was,  and  yet  her  sharp 
mother-instinct  seemed  to  detect  it  and  perceive  it.  What  if  the  boy 
were  really  not  her  son,  after  all  ?  O,  absurd !  She  almost  smiled 
at  the  idea,  spite  of  her  griefs  and  troubles.  No  matter,  she  found 
that  it  was  an  idea  that  would  not  "  down,"  but  persisted  in  haunting 
her.  It  pursued  her,  it  harassed  her,  it  clung  to  her,  and  refused  to  be 
put  away  or  ignored.  At  last  she  perceived  that  there  was  not  going 
to  be  any  peace  for  her  until  she  should  devise  a  test  that  should 
prove,  clearly  and  without  question,  whether  this  lad  was  her  son  or 
not,  and  so  banish  these  wearing  and  worrying  doubts.  Ah  yes,  this 
was  plainly  the  right  way  out  of  the  difficulty ;  therefore  she  set  her 
wits  to  work  at  once  to  contrive  that  test.  But  it  was  an  easier  thing 
to  propose  than  to  accomplish.  She  turned  over  in  her  mind  one 
promising  test  after  another,  but  was  obliged  to  relinquish  them  all  — 
none  of  them  were  absolutely  sure,  absolutely  perfect ;  and  an  imper- 
fect one  could  not  satisfy  her.  Evidently  she  was  racking  her  head 
in  vain  —  it  seemed  manifest  that  she  must  give  the  matter  up.  While 
this  depressing  thought  was  passing  through  her  mind,  her  ear  caught 
the  regular  breathing  of  the  boy,  and  she  knew  he  had  fallen  asleep. 
And  while  she  listened,  the  measured  breathing  was  broken  by  a  soft, 
startled  cry,  such  as  one  utters  in  a  troubled  dream.  This  chance 
occurrence  furnished  her  instantly  with  a  plan  worth  all  her  labored 
tests  combined.  She  at  once  set  herself  feverishly,  but  noiselessly,  to 
work,  to  relight  her  candle,  muttering  to  herself,  ''  Had  I  but  seen  him 


THE  PRINCE  IN    THE   TOILS. 


115 


tJien^  I  should  have  known !  Since  that  day,  when  he  was  little,  that 
the  powder  burst  in  his  face,  he  hath  never  been  startled  of  a  sudden 
out  of  his  dreams  or  out  of  his  thinkings,  but  he  hath  cast  his  hand 
before  his  eyes,  even  as  he  did  that  day ;  and  not  as  others  would  do  it, 
with  the  palm  inward,  but  always  with  the  palm  turned  outward  — 
I  have  seen  it  a  hundred  times,  and  it  hath  never  varied  nor  ever 
failed.     Yes,  I  shall  soon  know,  now !  " 

By  this  time  she  had  crept  to  the  slumbering  boy's  side,  with  the 


"she  bent  heedfully  and  warily  over  him. 

-^'^•^'''•'  candle,  shaded,  in  her  hand.  She  bent 
heedfully  and  warily  over  him,  scarcely 
breathing,  in  her  suppressed  excitement,  and  suddenly  flashed  the 
light  in  his  face  and  struck  the  floor  by  his  ear  with  her  knuckles. 
The  sleeper's  eyes  sprung  wide  open,  and  he  cast  a  startled  stare  about 
him  —  but  he  made  no  special  movement  with  his  hands. 

The  poor  woman  was  smitten  almost  helpless  with  surprise   and 
grief;  but  she  contrived  to  hide  her  emotions,  and  to  soothe  the  boy 


116 


THE  PRINCE  IN   THE   TOILS. 


to  sleep  again ;  then  she  crept  apart  and  communed  miserably  with 
herself  upon  the  disastrous  result  of  her  experiment.  She  tried  to 
believe  that  her  Tom's  madness  had  banished  this  habitual  gesture  of 
his;  but  she  could  not  do  it.  "  No,"  she  said,  "his  hands  are  not  mad, 
they  could  not  unlearn  so  old  a  habit  in  so  brief  a  time.  O,  this  is  a 
heavy  day  for  me  !  " 

Still,  hope  was  as  stubborn,  now,  as  doubt  had  been  before ;  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  accept  the  verdict  of  the  test ;  she  must  try 
the  thing  again  —  the  failure  must  have  been  only  an  accident ;  so  she 
startled  the  boy  out  of  his  sleep  a  second  and  a  third  time,  at  intervals 

—  with  the  same  result 
which  had  marked  the 
first  test  —  then  she 
dragged  herself  to  bed, 
and  fell  sorrowfully 
asleep,  sa3dng,  "  But  I 
cannot  give  him  up  — 
O,  no,  I  cannot,  I  can- 
not —  he  must  be  my 
boy!" 

The  poor  mother's 
interruptions  having 
ceased,  and  the  prince's 
pains  having  gradually 
lost  their  power  to  dis- 
turb him,  utter  weariness  at  last  sealed  his  eyes  in 
a  profound  and  restful  sleep.  Hour  after  hour  slipped  away,  and  still 
he  slept  like  the  dead.  Thus  four  or  five  hours  passed.  Then  his 
stupor  began  to  lighten.  Presently  while  half  asleep  and  half  awake, 
he  murmured  — 
"  Sir  William  !  " 


THE  PKINCE   SPRANG   UP.' 


THE  PRINCE  IN   THE    TOILS.  117 

After  a  moment  — 

"  Ho,  Sir  William  Herbert !  Hie  thee  hither,  and  list  to  the 
strangest  dream  that  ever  .  .  .  Sir  William !  dost  hear  ?  Man,  ]  did 
think  me  changed  to  a  paviper,  and  .  .  .  Ho  there !  Guards  !  Sir 
William !  What !  is  there  no  groom  of  the  chamber  in  waiting  ? 
Alack  it  shall  go  hard  with  "  — 

"  What  aileth  thee  ?  "  asked  a  whisper  near  him.  '•'  Who  art  thou 
calling  ?  " 

"  Sir  William  Herbert.     Who  art  thou  ?  " 

"  I  ?  Who  should  I  be,  but  thy  sister  Nan  ?  O,  Tom,  I  had  forgot ! 
Thou'rt  mad  yet  —  poor  lad  thou'rt  mad  yet,  would  I  had  never 
woke  to  know  it  again  !  But  prithee  master  thy  tongue,  lest  we  be 
all  beaten  till  we  die  !  " 

The  startled  prince  sprang  partly  up,  but  a  sharp  reminder  from 
his  stiffened  bruises  brought  him  to  himself,  and  he  sunk  back  among 
his  foul  straw  with  a  moan  and  the  ejaculation  — 

"  Alas,  it  was  no  dream,  then  !  " 

In  a  moment  all  the  heavy  sorrow  and  misery  which  sleep  had 
banished  were  upon  him  again,  and  he  realized  that  he  was  no  longer 
a  petted  prince  in  a  palace,  with  the  adoring  eyes  of  a  nation  upon 
him,  but  a  pauper,  an  outcast,  clothed  in  rags,  prisoner  in  a  den  fit 
only  for  beasts,  and  consorting  with  beggars  and  thieves. 

In  the  midst  of  his  grief  he  began  to  be  conscious  of  hilarious 
noises  and  shoutings,  apparently  but  a  block  or  two  away.  The  next 
moment  there  were  several  sharp  raps  at  the  door ;  John  Canty  ceased 
from  snoring  and  said  — 

"  Who  knocketh  ?     What  wilt  thou  ?  " 

A  voice  answered  — 

"  Know'st  thou  who  it  was  thou  laid  thy  cudgel  on  ?  " 

"No.     Neither  know  I,  nor  care." 

"  Belike  thou'lt  change  thy  note  eftsoons.     An'  thou  would  save 


118 


THE  PRINCE  IN   THE   TOILS. 


thy  neck,  nothing  but  flight  may  stead  thee.     The  man  is  this  moment 
delivering  up  the  ghost.     'Tis  the  priest,  Father  Andrew  !  " 

"  God-a-mercy ! "  exclaimed  Canty.  He  roused  his  family,  and 
hoarsely  commanded,  "  Up  with  ye  all  an(i  fly  —  or  bide  where  ye  are 
and  perish ! " 

Scarcely  five  minutes  later  the  Canty  household  were  in  the  street 
and  flying  for  their  lives.     John  Canty  held  the  prince  by  the  wrist, 

and  hurried  him 
along  the  dark 
way,  giving  him 
this  caution  in 
a  low  voice  — 
"  Mind  thy 
tongue,  thou 
mad  fool,  and 
speak  not  our 
name.  I  will 
choose  me  a  new 
name,  speedily, 
to  throw  the 
law's  dogs  off  the  scent.  Mind 
thy  tongue,  I  tell  thee !  " 

He  o-rowled  these  words  to 
the  rest  of  the  family  — 

"  If  it  so  chance  that  we  be 

separated,   let    each    make    for 

London   bridge  ;  whoso  findeth 

himself  as  far  as  the  last  linen-draper's  shop  on  the  bridge,  let  him 

tarry  there  till  the  others  be  come,  then  will  we  flee  into  Southwark 

together." 

At  this  moment  the   party  burst  suddenly  out  of  darkness  into 


"  HUBRIED   HIM   ALONG   THE   DARK   WAY." 


THE  PRINCE  IN   THE   TOILS.  119 

light;  and  not  only  into  light,  but  into  the  midst  of  a  multitude  of 
singing,  dancing,  and  shouting  people,  massed  together  on  the  river 
frontage.  There  was  a  line  of  bonfires  stretching  as  far  as  one  could 
see,  up  and  down  the  Thames ;  London  bridge  was  illuminated ; 
Southwark  bridge  likewise ;  the  entire  river  was  aglow  with  the  flash 
and  sheen  of  colored  lights ;  and  constant  explosions  of  fireworks  filled 
the  skies  with  an  intricate  commingling  of  shooting  splendors  and  a 
thick  rain  of  dazzling  sparks  that  almost  turned  night  into  day  ;  every- 
where were  crowds  of  revellers ;  all  London  seemed  to  be  at  large. 

John  Canty  delivered  himself  of  a  furious  curse  and  commanded  a 
retreat ;  but  it  was  too  late.  He  and  his  tribe  were  swallowed  up  in 
that  swarming  hive  of  humanity,  and  hopelessly  separated  from  each 
other  in  an  instant.  We  are  not  considering  that  the  prince  was  one 
of  his  tribe  ;  Canty  still  kept  his  grip  upon  him.  The  prince's  heart 
was  beating  high  with  hopes  of  escape,  now.  A  burly  waterman, 
considerably  exalted  with  liquor,  found  himself  rudely  shoved,  by 
Canty,  in  his  efforts  to  plough  through  the  crowd ;  he  laid  his  great 
hand  on  Canty 's  shoulder  and  said  — 

"  Nay,  whither  so  fast,  friend  ?  Dost  canker  thy  soul  with  sordid 
business  when  all  that  be  leal  men  and  true  make  holiday  ?  " 

"Mine  affairs  are  mine  own,  they  concern  thee  not,"  answered 
Canty,  roughly ;  "  take  away  thy  hand  and  let  me  pass." 

"  Sith  that  is  thy  humor,  thou'lt  not  pass,  till  thou'st  drunk  to  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  I  tell  thee  that,"  said  the  waterman,  barring  the  way 
resolutely. 

"  Give  me  the  cup,  then,  and  make  speed,  make  speed !  " 

Other  revellers  were  interested  by  this  time.     They  cried  out  — 

"  The  loving-cup,  the  loving-cup !  make  the  sour  knave  drink  the 
loving-cup,  else  will  we  feed  him  to  the  fishes." 

So  a  huge  loving-cup  was  brought ;  the  waterman,  grasping  it  by 
one  of  its  handles,  and  with  his  other  hand  bearing  up  the  end  of  an 


120 


THE  PRINCE  IN    THE    TOILS. 


imaginary  napkin,  presented  it  in  clue  and  ancient  form  to  Canty,  who 
had  to  grasp  the  opposite  handle  with  one  of  his  hands  and  take  off 
the  lid  with  the  other,  according  to  ancient   custom.^     This  left  the 

prince  hand-free 
for  a  second, 
of  course.  He 
wasted  no  time, 
but  dived 
among  the  for- 
est of  legs  about 
him  and  disap- 
peared. In  an- 
other moment 
he  could  not 
have  been  hard- 
er to  find,  under 
that  tossing  sea  of  life,  if  its  billows  had  been 
the  Atlantic's  and  he  a  lost  sixpence. 

He    very    soon     realized    this    fact,    and 

straightwa}^    busied    himself    about    his    own 

affairs     without     further    thought     of     John 

Canty.      He  quickly  realized  another  thing, 

too.     To  wit,  that  a  spurious  Prince  of  Wales 

was  being  feasted  by  the  city  in  his  stead.     He  easily  concluded  that 

the  pauper  lad,  Tom  Canty,  had  deliberately  taken  advantage  of  his 

stupendous  opportunity  and  become  a  usurper. 

Therefore  there  was  but  one  course  to  pursue  —  find  his  way  to 
the  Guildhall,  make  himself  known,  and  denounce  the  impostor.  He 
also  made  up  his  mind  that  Tom  should  be  allowed  a  reasonable  time 
for  spiritual  preparation,  and  then  be  hanged,  drawn  and  quartered, 
according  to  the  law  and  usage  of  the  day,  in  cases  of  high  treason. 

1  See  Note  6,  at  end  of  volume. 


HK   WASTED   NO   TIME. 


CHAPTER    XI. 


AT  GUILDHALL. 


The  royal  barge,  attended  by  its  gorgeous  fleet,  took  its  stately  way 
down  the  Thames  through  the  wilderness  of  illuminated  boats.  The 
air  was  laden  with  music  ;  the  river  banks  were  beruffled  with  joy- 
flames  ;  the  distant  city  lay  in  a  soft  luminous  glow  from  its  countless 
invisible  bonfires ;  above  it  rose  many  a  slender  spire  into  the  sky, 
incrusted  with  sparkling  lights,  wherefore  in  their  remoteness  they 
seemed  like  jewelled  lances  thrust  aloft ;  as  the  fleet  swept  along,  it 
was  greeted  from  the  banks  with  a  continuous  hoarse  roar  of  cheers 
and  the  ceaseless  flash  and  boom  of  artillery. 

To  Tom  Canty,  half  buried  in  his  silken  cushions,  these  sounds 
and  this  spectacle  were  a  wonder  unspeakably  sublime  and  astonishing. 
To  his  little  friends  at  his  side,  the  princess  Elizabeth  and  the  lady 
Jane  Grey,  they  were  nothing. 

Arrived  at  the  Dowgate,  the  fleet  was  towed  up  the  limpid  Wal- 
brook  (whose  channel  has  now  been  for  two  centuries  buried  out  of 
sight  under  acres  of  buildings,)  to  Bucklersbury,  past  houses  and 
under  bridges  populous  with  merry-makers  and  brilliantly  lighted, 
and  at  last  came  to  a  halt  in  a  basin  where  now  is  Barge  Yard,  in  the 
centre  of  the  ancient  city  of  London.  Tom  disembarked,  and  he  and 
his  gallant  procession  crossed  Cheapside  and  made  a  short  march 
through  the  Old  Jewry  and  Basinghall  street  to  the  Guildhall. 

Tom  and  his  little  ladies  were  received  with  due  ceremony  by  the 
Lord  Mayor  and  the   Fathers  of  the   City,  in  their  gold  chains  and 

123 


124 


AT   GUILDHALL. 


scarlet  robes  of  state,  and  conducted  to  a  rich  canopy  of    state  at  the 
head  of  the  great  hall,  preceded  by  heralds  making  proclamation,  and 
by  the  Mace  and  the  City  Sword.     The  lords 
and  ladies  who  were  to  attend  upon  Tom 
and  his  two  small  friends  took  their  olaces 
behind  their  chairs. 

At  a  lower  table  the  court 
grandees  and  other  guests  of 
noble    degree    were    seated, 
with   the   magnates   of   the 
city ;  the    commoners    took 
places    at    a    multitude    of 
tables  on  the  main  floor  of 
the  hall.     From  their 
lofty  vantage-ground, 
the   giants    Gog   and 
Magog,    the    ancient 
guardians  of  the  city, 
contemplated     the 
spectacle    below 
them  with  eyes 


grown  familiar  to  it  in  forgotten  gen- 


erations. There  was  a  bugle-blast  and  a  proclamation,  and  a  fat  butler 
appeared  in  a  high  perch  in  the  leftward  wall,  followed  by  his  servi- 
tors bearing  with  impressive  solemnity  a  royal  Baron  of  Beef,  smoking 
hot  and  ready  for  the  k)iife. 


AT   GUILDHALL.  125 

After  grace,  Tom  (being  instructed)  rose  —  and  tlie  whole  house 
with  him  —  and  drank  from  a  portly  golden  loving-cup  with  the  prin- 
cess Elizabeth ;  from  her  it  passed  to  the  lady  Jane,  and  then  traversed 
the  general  assemblage.     So  the  banquet  began. 

By  midnight  the  revelry  was  at  its  height.  Now  came  one  of  those 
picturesque  spectacles  so  admired  in  that  old  day.  A  description  of  it 
is  still  extant  in  the  quaint  wording  of  a  chronicler  who  witnessed  it : 

"  Space  being  made,  presently  entered  a  baron  and  an  earl  appar- 
eled after  the  Turkish  fashion  in  long  robes  of  bawdkin  powdered 
with  gold ;  hats  on  their  heads  of  crimson  velvet,  with  great  rolls  of 
gold,  girded  with  two  swords,  called  scimitars,  hanging  by  great  bawd- 
ricks  of  gold.  Next  came  yet  another  baron  and  another  earl,  in  two 
long  gowns  of  yellow  satin,  traversed  with  white  satin,  and  in  every 
bend  of  white  was  a  bend  of  crimson  satin,  after  the  fashion  of  Russia, 
with  furred  hats  of  gray  on  their  heads ;  either  of  them  having  an 
hatchet  in  their  hands,  and  boots  with  pykes "  (points  a  foot  long), 
"turned  up.  And  after  them  came  a  knight,  then  the  Lord  High 
Admiral,  and  with  him  five  nobles,  in  doublets  of  crimson  velvet, 
voyded  low  on  the  back  and  before  to  the  cannell-bone,  laced  on  the 
breasts  with  chains  of  silver ;  and,  over  that,  short  cloaks  of  crimson 
satin,  and  on  their  heads  hats  after  the  dancers'  fasliion,  with  pheas- 
ants" feathers  in  them.  These  were  appareled  after  the  fashion  of 
Prussia.  The  torch-bearers,  which  were  about  an  hundred,  were  ap- 
pareled in  crimson  satin  and  green,  like  Moors,  their  faces  black. 
Next  came  in  a  mommarye.  Then  the  minstrels,  which  were  dis- 
guised, danced ;  and  the  lords  and  ladies  did  wildly  dance  also,  that 
it  was  a  pleasure  to  behold." 

And  while  Tom,  in  his  high  seat,  was  gazing  upon  this  "wild" 
dancing,  lost  in  admiration  of  the  dazzling  commingling  of  kaleido- 
scopic colors  which  the  whirling  turmoil  of  gaudy  figures  below  him 


126  AT  GUILDHALL. 

presented,  the  ragged  but  real  little  prince  of  Wales  was  proclaiming 
his  rights  and  his  wrongs,  denouncing  the  impostor,  and  clamoring  for 
admission  at  the  gates  of  Guildhall !  The  crowd  enjoyed  this  episode 
prodigiously,  and  pressed  forward  and  craned  their  necks  to  see  the 
small  rioter.  Presently  they  began  to  taunt  him  and  mock  at  him, 
purposely  to  goad  him  into  a  higher  and  still  more  entertaining  fury. 
Tears  of  mortification  sprung  to  his  eyes,  but  he  stood  his  ground  and 
defied  the  mob  right  royally.  Other  taunts  followed,  added  mockings 
stung  him,  and  he  exclaimed  — 

"  I  tell  ye  again,  you  pack  of  unmannerly  curs,  I  am  the  prince 
of  Wales !  And  all  forlorn  and  friendless  as  I  be,  with  none  to  give 
me  word  of  grace  or  help  me  in  my  need,  yet  will  not  I  be  driven  from 
my  ground,  but  will  maintain  it !  " 

"  Though  thou  be  prince  or  no  prince,  'tis  all  one,  thou  be'st  a 
gallant  lad,  and  not  friendless  neither !  Here  stand  I  by  thy  side  to 
prove  it ;  and  mind  I  tell  thee  thou  might'st  have  a  worser  friend  than 
Miles  Hendon  and  yet  not  tire  thy  legs  with  seeking.  Rest  thy  small 
jaw,  my  child,  I  talk  the  language  of  these  base  kennel-rats  like  to  a 
very  native." 

The  speaker  was  a  sort  of  Don  Caesar  de  Bazan  in  dress,  aspect, 
and  bearing.  He  was  tall,  trim-built,  muscular.  His  doublet  and 
trunks  were  of  rich  material,  but  faded  and  threadbare,  and  their 
gold-lace  adornments  were  sadly  tarnished ;  his  ruff  was  rumpled  and 
damaged  ;  the  plume  in  his  slouched  hat  was  broken  and  had  a  be- 
draggled and  disreputable  look ;  at  his  side  he  wore  a  long  rapier  in 
a  rusty  iron  sheath ;  his  swaggering  carriage  marked  him  at  once  as  a 
ruflfler  of  the  camp.  The  speech  of  this  fantastic  figure  was  received 
with  an  explosion  of  jeers  and  laughter.  Some  cried,  "  'Tis  another 
prince  in  disguise  !  "  "  'Ware  thy  tongue,  friend,  belike  he  is  danger- 
ous !  "  "  Marry,  he  looketh  it  —  mark  his  eye  !  "  "  Pluck  the  lad 
from  him  —  to  the  horse-pond  wi'  the  cub  !  " 


AT   GUILDHALL. 


127 


Instantly  a  hand  was  laid  upon  the  prince,  under  the  impulse  of 
this  happy  thought;  as  instantly  the  stranger's  long  sword  was  out 
and  the  meddler  went  to  the  earth  under  a  sounding  thump  with  the 
flat  of  it.  The  next  moment  a  score  of  voices  shouted  "  Kill  the  dog ! 
kill    him  I    kill  him ! "    and   the   mob    closed  in  on    the   warrior,   who 


'Mf"t""'/^4H"l')  '"!',!  '!   - 


"  BEGAN   TO   LAY   ABOUT   HIM." 


backed  himself  against  a  wall  and  began  to  lay  about  him  with  his 
long  weapon  like  a  madman.  His  victims  sprawled  this  way  and  that, 
but  the  mob-tide  poured  over  their  prostrate  forms  and  dashed  itself 
against  the  champion  with  undiminished  fury.  His  moments  seemed 
numbered,  his  destruction  certain,  when  suddenly  a  trumpet-blast 
sounded,  a  voice  shouted,  "  Way  for  the  king's  messenger ! "  and  a 


128 


AT   GUILDHALL. 


troop  of  horsemen  came  charging  clown  upon  the  mob,  who  fled  out 
of  harm's  reach  as  fast  as  their  legs  could  carry  them.  The  bold 
stranger  caught  up  the  prince  in  his  arms,  and  was  soon  far  awaj  from 
danger  and  the  multitude. 

Return  we  within  the  Guildhall.     Suddenly,  high  above  the  jubi- 
lant roar  and  thunder  of  the  revel,  broke 
the  clear  peal  of  a  bugle-note.     There 
was     instant     silence,  —  a     deep 
hush ;    then    a  single  voice  rose 
—  that  of  the    messenger  from 
the  palace  —  and  began  to  pipe 
forth  a  proclamation,  the  whole 
multitude    standing,    listening. 
The  closing  words,  solemnly 
pronounced,  were  — 
"•  The  king  is  dead !  " 
m^_____ The  great  as- 

semblage 


LONG   LIVK   THK   KING  !  " 


AT   GUILDHALL.  129 

bent  their  heads  upon  their  breasts  with  one  accord ;  remained  so,  in 
profound  silence,  a  few  moments;  then  all  sunk  upon  their  knees  in 
a  body,  stretched  out  their  hands  toward  Tom,  and  a  mighty  shout 
burst  forth  that  seemed  to  shake  the  building  — 

"  Long  live  the  king  !  " 

Poor  Tom's  dazed  eyes  wandered  abroad  over  this  stupefying  spec- 
tacle, and  finally  rested  dreamily  upon  the  kneeling  princesses  beside 
him,  a  moment,  then  upon  the  earl  of  Hertford.  A  sudden  purpose 
dawned  in  his  face.     He  said,  in  a  Ioav  tone,  at  lord  Hertford's  ear  — 

"  Answer  me  truly,  on  thy  faith  and  honor  !  Uttered  I  here  a  com- 
mand, the  which  none  but  a  king  might  hold  privilege  and  prerogative 
to  utter,  would  such  commandment  be  obeyed,  and  none  rise  up  to  say 
me  nay  ?  " 

"None,  my  liege,  in  all  these  realms.  In  thy  person  bides  the 
majesty  of  England.     Thou  art  the  king  —  thy  word  is  law." 

Tom  responded,  in  a  strong,  earnest  voice,  and  with  great  anima- 
tion — 

"  Then  shall  the  king's  law  be  law  of  mercy,  from  this  day,  and 
never  more  be  law  of  blood  !  Up  from  thy  knees  and  away !  To  the 
Tower  and  say  the  king  decrees  the  duke  of  Norfolk  shall  not  die ! "  ^ 

The  words  were  caught  up  and  carried  eagerly  from  lip  to  lip  far 
and  wide  over  the  hall,  and  as  Hertford  hurried  from  the  presence, 
another  prodigious  shout  burst  forth  — 

"  The  reign  of  blood  is  ended !  Long  live  Edward,  king  of 
England ! " 

1  See  Note  7,  at  end  of  volume. 


CHAPTER    XII. 


THE  PRINCE   AND   HIS  DELIVERER. 


As  soon  as  Miles  Hendon  and  the  little  prince  were  clear  of  the 
mob,  they  struck  down  through  back  lanes  and  alleys  toward  the 
river.  Their  way  was  unobstructed  until  they  approached  London 
Bridge ;  then  they  ploughed  into  the  multitude  again,  Hendon  keeping 
a  fast  grip  upon  the  prince's  —  no,  the  king's  —  wrist.  The  tremen- 
dous news  was  already  abroad,  and  the  boy  learned  it  from  a  thousand 
voices  at  once  —  "  The  king  is  dead  !  "  The  tidings  struck  a  chill  to 
the  heart  of  the  poor  little  waif,  and  sent  a  shudder  through  his  frame. 
He  realized  the  greatness  of  his  loss,  and  was  filled  with  a  bitter  grief ; 
for  the  grim  tyrant  who  had  been  such  a  terror  to  others  had  always 
been  gentle  with  him.  The  tears  sprung  to  his  eyes  and  blurred  all 
objects.  For  an  instant  he  felt  himself  the  most  forlorn,  outcast,  and 
forsaken  of  God's  creatures  —  then  another  cry  shook  the  night  with 
its  far-reaching  thunders :  "  Long  live  King  Edward  the  Sixth !  "  and 
this  made  his  eyes  kindle,  and  thrilled  him  with  pride  to  his  fingers' 
ends.  "Ah,"  he  thought,  "how  grand  and  strange  it  seems  —  I  AM 
King ! " 

Our  friends  threaded  their  way  slowly  through  the  throngs  upon 
the  Bridge.  This  structure,  which  had  stood  for  six  hundred  years, 
and  had  been  a  noisy  and  populous  thoroughfare  all  that  time,  was  a 
curious  affair,  for  a  closely  packed  rank  of  stores  and  shops,  with 
family  quarters  overhead,  stretched  along  both  sides  of  it,  from  one 
bank  of  the  river  to  the  other.     The  Bridge  was  a  sort  of  town   to 

133 


134 


THE   PRINCE  AND   HIS   DELIVERER. 


itself;  it  had  its  inn,  its  beer  houses,  its  bakeries,  its  haberdasheries, 
its  food  markets,  its  manufacturing  industries,  and  even  its  church.  It 
looked  upon  the  two  neighbors  which  it  linked  together  —  London  and 
Southwark  —  as  being  well  enough,  as  suburbs,  but  not  otherwise  par- 


OUR   FRIENDS   THREADED   THEIU   WAY. 


ticularly  important.  It  was  a  close  corporation,  so  to  speak ;  it  was  a 
narrow  town,  of  a  single  street  a  fifth  of  a  mile  long,  its  population 
was  but  a  village  population,  and  everybody  in  it  knew  all  his  fellow 
townsmen  intimately,  and  had  known  their  fathers  and  mothers  before 


THE  PRINCE  AND   HI.S   DELIVERER.  135 

them  —  and  all  their  little  family  affairs  into  the  bargain.  It  had  its 
aristocrac}^  of  course — its  fine  old  families  of  butchers,  and  bakers, 
and  what-not,  who  had  occupied  the  same  old  premises  for  five  or  six 
hundred  years,  and  knew  the  great  history  of  the  Bridge  from  begin- 
ning to  end,  and  all  its  strange  legends ;  and  who  always  talked  bridgy 
talk,  and  thought  bridgy  thoughts,  and  lied  in  a  long,  level,  direct, 
substantial  bridgy  way.  It  was  just  the  sort  of  population  to  be 
narrow  and  ignorant  and  self-conceited.  Children  were  born  on  the 
Bridge,  were  reared  there,  grew  to  old  age  and  finally  died  without 
ever  having  set  a  foot  upon  any  part  of  the  world  but  London  Bridge 
alone.  Such  people  would  naturally  imagine  that  the  mighty  and 
interminable  procession  which  moved  through  its  street  night  and  day, 
with  its  confused  roar  of  shouts  and  cries,  its  neighings  and  bellowings 
and  bleatings  and  its  muffled  thunder-tramp,  was  the  one  great  thing 
in  this  world,  and  themselves  somehow  the  proprietors  of  it.  And  so 
they  were,  in  effect  —  at  least  they  could  exhibit  it  from  their  win- 
dows, and  did  —  for  a  consideration  —  whenever  a  returning  king  or 
hero  gave  it  a  fleeting  splendor,  for  there  was  no  place  like  it  for 
affording  a  long,  straight,  uninterrupted  view  of  marching  columns. 

Men  born  and  reared  upon  the  Bridge  found  life  unendurably  dull 
and  inane,  elsewhere.  History  tells  of  one  of  these  who  left  the  Bridge 
at  the  age  of  seventy-one  and  retired  to  the  country.  But  he  could 
only  fret  and  toss  in  his  bed ;  he  could  not  go  to  sleep,  the  deep  still- 
ness was  so  painful,  so  awful,  so  oppressive.  When  he  was  worn  out 
with  it,  at  last,  he  fled  back  to  his  old  home,  a  lean  and  haggard 
spectre,  and  fell  peacefully  to  rest  and  pleasant  dreams  under  the  lull- 
ing music  of  the  lashing  waters  and  the  boom  and  crash  and  thunder 
of  London  Bridge. 

In  the  times  of  wliich  we  are  writing,  the  Bridge  furnished  "  object 
lessons"  in  English  history,  for  its  children  —  namely,  the  livid  and 
decaying  heads  of  renowned  men  impaled  upon  iron  spikes  atop  of  its 
gateways.     But  we  digress. 


136 


THE  PRINCE  AND   HIS  DELIVERER. 


Hendon's  lodgings  were  in  the  little  inn  on  the  Bridge.  As  he 
neared  the  door  with  his  small  friend,  a  rough  voice  said  — 

"  So,  thou'rt  come  at  last !  Thou'lt  not  escape  again,  I  warrant 
thee ;  and  if  pounding  thy  bones  to  a  pudding  can  teach  thee  some- 
what, thou'lt  not  keep  us  waiting  another  time,  mayhap  "  —  and  John 
Canty  put  out  his  hand  to  seize  the  boy. 

Miles  Hendon  stepped  in  the  way  and  said  — 

"  Not  too  fast,  friend.  Thou 
art  needlessly  rough,  methinks. 
What  is  the  lad  to  thee  ?  " 

"  If  it  be  any  business  of  thine 
to  make  and  meddle  in  others' 
affairs,  he  is  my  son." 

"'Tis  a  lie!"  cried  the  little 
king,  hotly. 

^'  Boldly   said,    and    I    believe 
thee,  whether  thy  small  head-piece 
be    sound    or    cracked,    my    boy. 
But   whether   this    scurvy  ruffian 
—"  '    ;;>  '^^''^~  be  thy  father  or  no,  'tis  all  one, 

"OBJECT  LESSONS"    IN  ENGLISH  HISTORY.    ^^   gj^^^lj  ^^^  ^^^^   ^^iee  tO  bcat  theC 

and  abuse,  according  to  his  threat,  so  thou  prefer  to  bide  with  me." 

"I  do,  I  do — I  know  him-  not,  I  loathe  him,  and  will  die  before  I 
will  go  with  him." 

"  Then  'tis  settled,  and  there  is  nought  more  to  say." 
"  We  will  see,  as  to  that !  "  exclaimed  John  Canty,  striding  past 
Hendon  to  get  at  the  boy  ;  "  by  force  shall  he  "  — 

"If  thou  do  but  touch  him,  thou  animated  offal,  I  will  spit  thee 
like  a  goose ! "  said  Hendon,  barring  the  way  and  laying  his  hand  upon 
his  sword  hilt.  Canty  drew  back.  "Now  mark  ye,"  continued  Hen- 
don, "  I  took  this  lad  under  my  protection  when  a  mob  of  such  as  thou 


l^i 


''M^,-. 


THE  PRINCE  AND    HIS   DELIVERER. 


137 


would  have  mishandled  him,  mayhap  killed  him ;  dost  imagine  I  will 
desert  him  now  to  a  worser  fate  ?  —  for  whether  thou  art  his  father  or 
no,  —  and  sooth  to  say,  1  think  it  is  a  lie  —  a  decent  swift  death  were 
better  for  such  a  lad  than  life  in  such  brute  hands  as  thine.     So  go 


"JOHN   CANTY   MOVED   OFF." 

thy  ways,  and  set  quick  about  it,  for  I  like   not  much  bandying  of 
words,  being  not  over-patient  in  my  nature." 

John  Canty  moved  off,  muttering  threats  and  curses,  and  was 
swallowed  from  sight  in  the  crowd.  Hendon  ascended  three  flights 
of  stairs  to  his  room,  with  his  charge,  after  ordering  a  meal  to  be  sent 
thither.     It  was  a  poor  apartment,  with  a  shabby  bed  and  some  odds 


138  THE  PRINCE  AND   HIS   DELIVEliEli. 

and  ends  of  old  furniture  in  it,  and  was  vaguely  lighted  by  a  couple 
of  sickly  candles.  The  little  king  dragged  himself  to  the  bed  and  lay 
down  upon  it,  almost  exhausted  with  hunger  and  fatigue.  He  had 
been  on  his  feet  a  good  part  of  a  day  and  a  night,  for  it  was  now  two 
or  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  had  eaten  nothing  meantime.  He 
murmured  drowsily  — 

"  Prithee  call  me  when  the  table  is  spread,"  and  sunk  in^o  a  deep 
sleep  immediately. 

A  smile  twinkled  in  Hendon's  eye,  and  he  said  to  himself  — 

"  By  the  mass,  the  little  beggar  takes  to  one's  quarters  and  usurps 
one's  bed  with  as  natural  and  easy  a  grace  as  if  he  owned  them  —  with 
never  a  by-your-leave  or  so-please-it-you,  or  any  thing  of  the  sort.  In 
his  diseased  ravings  he  called  himself  the  prince  of  Wales,  and  bravely 
doth  he  keep  up  the  character.  Poor  little  friendless  rat,  doubtless  his 
mind  has  been  disordered  with  ill  usage.  Well,  I  will  be  his  friend ; 
I  have  saved  him,  and  it  draweth  me  strongly  to  him  ;  already  I  love 
the  bold-tongued  little  rascal.  How  soldier-like  he  faced  the  smutty 
rabble  and  flung  back  his  high  defiance !  And  what  a  comely,  sweet 
and  gentle  face  he  hath,  now  that  sleep  hath  conjured  away  its  troubles 
and  its  griefs.  I  will  teach  him,  I  will  cure  his  malady ;  yea,  I  will  be 
his  elder  brother,  and  care  for  him  and  watch  over  him  ;  and  whoso 
would  shame  him  or  do  him  hurt,  may  order  his  shroud,  for  though  I 
be  burnt  for  it  he  shall  need  it !  " 

He  bent  over  the  boy  and  contemplated  him  with  kind  and  pitying 
interest,  tapping  the  young,  cheek  tenderly  and  smoothing  back  the 
tangled  curls  with  his  great  brown  hand.  A  slight  shiver  passed  over 
the  boy's  form.     Hendon  muttered  — 

"  See,  now,  how  like  a  man  it  was  to  let  him  lie  here  uncovered 
and  fill  his  body  with  deadly  rheums.  Now  what  shall  I  do?  'twill 
wake  him  to  take  him  up  and  put  him  within  the  bed,  and  he  sorely 
needeth  sleep." 


THE  PRINCE  AND  HIS   DELIVEBER. 


139 


He  looked  about  for  extra  covering,  but  finding  none,  doffed  his 
doublet  and  wrapped  the  lad  in  it,  saying,  "  I  am  used  to  nipping  air 
and  scant  apparel,  'tis  little  I  shall  mind  the  cold  "  —  then  walked  up 
and  down  the  room  to  keep  his  blood  in  motion,  soliloquizing,  as 
before. 


SMOOTHING  BACK  THE  TANGLED  CURLS.' 


'•  His  injured  mind  persuades  him 
he  is  prince  of  Wales ;  'twill  be  .odd  to 
have  a  prince  of  Wales  still  with  us, 
now  that  he  that  was  the  prince  is  prince 
no  more,  l)ut  king,  —  for  this  poor  mind  is  set  upon  the  one  fantasy, 
and  will  not  reason  out  that  now  it  should  cast  by  the  prince  and 
call  itself  the  king.  ...  If  my  father  liveth  still,  after  these  seven 
years  that  I  have  heard  nought  from  home  in  my  foreign  dungeon, 
he  will  welcome  the  poor  lad  and  give  him  generous  shelter  for  my 
sake ;  so  will  my  good  elder  brother,  Arthur ;  my  other  brother,  Hugh 
—  but  I  will  crack    his    crown,  an'  he   interfere,  the    fox-hearted,  ill- 


140  THE  PRINCE  AND   HIS   DELIVEBEB. 

conditioned  animal !  Yes,  thither  will  we  fare  —  and  straightway, 
too." 

A  servant  entered  with  a  smoking  meal,  disposed  it  upon  a  small 
deal  table,  placed  the  chairs,  and  took  his  departure,  leaving  such 
cheap  lodgers  as  these  to  wait  upon  themselves.  The  door  slammed 
after  him,  and  the  noise  woke  the  boy,  who  sprung  to  a  sitting  posture, 
and  shot  a  glad  glance  about  him ;  then  a  grieved  look  came  into  his 
face  and  he  murmured,  to  himself,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "Alack,  it  was 
but  a  dream,  woe  is  me."  Next  he  noticed  Miles  Hendon's  doublet  — 
glanced  from  that  to  Hendon,  comprehended  the  sacrifice  that  had 
been  made  for  him,  and  said,  gently  — 

"  Thou  art  good  to  me,  yes,  thou  art  very  good  to  me.  Take  it  and 
put  it  on  —  I  shall  not  need  it  more." 

Then  he  got  up  and  walked  to  the  washstand  in  the  corner,  and 
stood  there,  waiting.     Hendon  said  in  a  cheery  voice  — 

"  We'll  have  a  right  hearty  sup  and  bite,  now,  for  every  thing  is 
savory  and  smoking  hot,  and  that  and  thy  nap  together  will  make  thee 
a  little  man  again,  never  fear  1 " 

The  boy  made  no  answer,  but  bent  a  steady  look,  that  was  filled 
with  grave  surprise,  and  also  somewhat  touched  with  impatience,  upon 
the  tall  knight  of  the  sword.     Hendon  was  puzzled,  and  said  — 

"  What's  amiss  ?  " 

"  Good  sir,  I  would  wash  me." 

"  O,  is  that  all !  Ask  no  permission  of  Miles  Hendon  for  aught 
thou  cravest.  Make  thyself  perfectly  free  here,  and  welcome,  with  all 
that  are  his  belongings." 

Still  the  boy  stood,  and  moved  not ;  more,  he  tapped  the  floor  once 
or  twice  with  his  small  impatient  foot.  Hendon  was  wholly  perplexed. 
Said  he  — 

"  Bless  us,  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Prithee  pour  the  water,  and  make  not  so  many  words ! " 


THE  PRINCE  AND   HIS   DELIVERER. 


141 


Hendon,  suppressing  a  horse-laugh,  and  saying  to  himself,  "  By  all 
the  saints,  but  this  is  admirable !  "  stepped  briskly  forward  and  did 
the  small  insolent's  bidding ;  then  stood  by,  in  a  sort  of  stupefaction, 
until  the  command,  "  Come  —  the  towel !  "  woke  him  sharply  up.  He, 
took  up  a  towel,  from   under  the  boy's  nose,  and  handed  it  to  him, 

without  com- 
m  e  n  t.       He 
now  proceed- 
ed to  comfort 
his  own  face 
with  a  wash, 
and  while  he 
was  at  it  his 
adopted  child 
seated     him- 
self    at     the 
table  and  pre- 
pared to  fall  to.    Hendon  despatched 
his    ablutions    with    alacrity,    then 
drew  back  the  other  chair  and  was 
about  to  place  himself  at  table,  when 
the  boy  said,  indignantly  — 

"  Forbear  !  Wouldst  sit  in  the 
presence  of  the  king  ?  " 
This  blow  staggered  Hendon  to  his  foundations.  He  muttered 
to  himself,  "  Lo,  the  poor  thing's  madness  is  up  with  the  time !  it 
hath  changed  with  the  great  change  that  is  come  to  the  realm,  and 
now  in  fancy  is  he  king!  Good  lack,  I  must  humor  the  conceit,  too 
—  there  is  no  other  way  —  faith,  he  would  order  me  to  the  Tower, 
else !  " 

And  pleased  with  this  jest,  he  removed  the  chair  from  the  table, 


PRITHEE,    POUR  THE   WATER. 


142 


THE  PRINCE  AND  HIS   DELIVEREB 


took  his  stand  beliind  the  king,  and  proceeded  to  wait  upon  him  in  the 
courtliest  way  he  was  capable  of. 

While  the  king  ate,  the  rigor  of  his  royal  dignity  relaxed  a  little, 
and  with  his  growing  contentment  came  a  desire  to  talk.     He  said  • — 

"I  think  thou  callest 
thyself  Miles  Hendon,  if 
I  heard  thee  aright?" 

"  Yes,  sire,"  Miles  re- 
plied; then  observed  to 
himself,  "  If  I  must  hu- 
mor the  poor  lad's  mad- 
ness, I  must  sire  him,  I 
must  majesty  him,  I  must 
not  go  by  halves,  I  must 
stick  at  nothing  that  be- 
longeth  to  the  part  I 
play,  else  shall  I  play  it  ill  and  work  evil  to 
this  charitable  and  Idndly  cause." 

The  king  warmed  his  heart  Avith  a  second 

glass   of    wine,   and  said  —  "-I   would    know 

thee — tell  me  thy  story.    Thou  hast  a  gallant 

way  with  thee,  and  a  noble  —  art  nobly  born?" 

"  We   are   of   the   tail   of  the    nobility,   good  your   majesty.       My 

father  is  a  baronet  —  one  of  the   smaller  lords,  by  knight  service  ^  — 

Sir  Richard  Hendon,  of  Hendon  Hall,  by  Monk's   Holm  in  Kent." 

"  The    name    has    escajDed     my    memory.       Go    on  —  tell    me    th}^ 
story." 

"'Tis  not  much,  your  majesty,  yet  perchance  it  may  beguile  a  short 
half  hour  for  want  of  a  better.     My  father.  Sir  Richard,  is  very  rich, 

•  ^  He  refers  to  the  order  of  liaronets,  or  baronettes,  —  the  harones  minores,  as  distinct 
from  the  parliamentary  barons;  — not,  it  need  hardly  be  said,  the  baronets  of  later  creation. 


GO   ON  —  TELL   ME   THY 
STORY." 


THE  P BINGE  AND   HIS  DELIVERER.  143 

and  of  a  most  generous  nature.  My  mother  died  whilst  I  was  yet  a 
boy.  I  have  two  brothers :  Arthur,  my  elder,  with  a  soul  like  to  his 
father's ;  and  Hugh,  yotinger  than  I,  a  mean  spirit,  covetous,  treacher- 
ous, vicious,  underhanded  —  a  reptile.  Such  was  he  from  the  cradle; 
such  was  he  ten  years  past,  when  I  last  saw  him  —  a  ripe  rascal  at 
nineteen,  I  being  twenty,  then,  and  Arthur  twenty-two.  There  is  none 
other  of  us  but  the  lad}^  Edith,  my  cousin  —  she  was  sixteen,  then  — 
beautiful,  gentle,  good,  the  daughter  of  an  earl,  the  last  of  her  race, 
heiress  of  a  great  fortune  and  a  lapsed  title.  M}^  father  was  her 
guardian.  T  loved  her  and  she  loved  me ;  but  she  was  betrothed  to 
Arthur  from  the  cradle,  and  Sir  Richard  would  not  suffer  the  contract 
to  be  broken.  Arthur  loved  another  maid,  and  bade  us  be  of  good 
cheer  and  hold  fast  to  the  liope  that  delay  and  luck  together  would 
some  day  give  success  to  our  several  causes.  Hugh  loved  the  lady 
Edith's  fortune,  though  in  truth  he  said  it  was  herself  he  loved  —  but 
then  'twas  his  way,  alway,  to  say  the  one  thing  and  mean  the  other. 
But  he  lost  his  arts  upon  the  girl ;  he  could  deceive  my  father,  but 
none  else.  My  father  loved  him  best  of  us  all,  and  trusted  and  be- 
lieved him ;  for  he  was  the  3^oungest  child  and  others  hated  him  — 
these  qualities  being  in  all  ages  sufficient  to  win  a  parent's  dearest 
love ;  and  he  had  a  smooth  persuasive  tongue,  with  an  admirable  gift 
of  lying  —  and  these  be  qualities  which  do  mightily  assist  a  blind  affec- 
tion to  cozen  itself.  I  was  wild  —  in  troth  I  might  go  yet  farther  and 
say  ver^  wild,  though  'twas  a  wildness  of  an  innocent  sort,  since  it 
hurt  none  but  me,  brought  shame  to  none,  nor  loss,  nor  had  in  it  any 
taint  of  crime  or  baseness,  or  what  might  not  beseem  mine  honorable 
degree. 

"  Yet  did  my  brother  Hugh  turn  these  faults  to  good  account  — 
he  seeing  that  our  brother  Arthur's  health  was  but  indifferent,  and 
hoping  the  worst  might  work  him  profit  were  I  swept  out  of  the  path 
—  so,  —  but  'twere   a  long  tale,  good   my  liege,  and  little  worth  the 


144  THE  PRINCE  AND   HIS   DELIVERER. 

telling.  Briefly,  then,  this  brother  did  deftly  magnify  my  faults  and 
make  them  crimes ;  ending  his  base  work  with  finding  a  silken  ladder 
in  mine  apartments  —  conveyed  thither  by  his  own  means  —  and  did 
convince  my  father  b}^  this,  and  suborned  evidence  of  servants  and 
other  lying  knaves,  that  I  was  minded  to  carrj^  off  my  Edith  and  marry 
with  her,  in  rank  defiance  of  his  will. 

"  Three  years  of  banishment  from  home  and  England  might  make 
a  soldier  and  a  man  of  me,  my  father  said,  and  teach  me  some  degree 
of  wisdom.  J  fought  out  my  long  probation  in  the  continental  wars, 
tasting  sumptuously  of  hard  knocks,  privation  and  adventure ;  but  in 
my  last  battle  I  was  taken  captive,  and  during  the  seven  years  that 
have  waxed  and  waned  since  then,  a  foreign  dungeon  hath  harbored 
me.  Through  wit  and  courage  I  won  to  the  free  air  at  last,  and  fled 
hither  straight;  and  am  but  just  arrived,  right  poor  in  purse  and 
raiment,  and  poorer  still  in  knowledge  of  what  these  dull  seven  years 
have  wrought  at  Hendon  Hall,  its  people  and  belongings.  So  please 
you,  sir,  my  meagre  tale  is  told." 

"  Thou  hast  been  shamefully  abused ! "  said  the  little  king,  with  a 
flashing  eye.  "But  I  will  right  thee  —  by  the  cross  will  I!  The 
king  hath  said  it." 

Then,  fired  by  the  story  of  Miles's  wrongs,  he  loosed  his  tongue 
and  poured  the  history  of  his  own  recent  misfortunes  into  the  ears  of 
his  astonished  listener.     When  he  had  finished,  Miles  said  to  himself — 

"  Lo,  what  an  imagination  he  hath !  Verily  this  is  no  common 
mind ;  else,  crazed  or  sane,  it  could  not  weave  so  straight  and  gaudy  a 
tale  as  this  out  of  the  airy  nothings  wherewith  it  hath  wrought  this 
curious  romaunt.  Poor  ruined  little  head,  it  shall  not  lack  friend  or 
shelter  whilst  I  bide  with  the  living.  He  shall  never  leave  my  side ; 
he  shall  be  my  pet,  my  little  comrade.  And  he  shall  be  cured!  —  aye, 
made  whole  and  sound  —  then  will  he  make  himself  a  name  —  and 
proud  shall  I  be  to  say,  '  Yes,  he  is  mine  —  I  took  him,  a  homeless  little 


THE  PRINCE  AND   HIS   DELIVERER. 


145 


ragamuffin,  but  I  saw  what  was  in  him,  and  I  said  his  name  would  be 
heard  some  day  —  behold  him,  observe  him — was  I  right?'  " 

The  king  spoke  —  in  a  thoughtful,  measured  voice  — 

"  Thou  didst  save  me  injury  and  shame,  perchance  my  life,  and  so 
my  crown.  Such  service  demandeth  rich  reward.  Name  thy  desire, 
and  so  it  be 
within  the  com-* 
pass  of  my  royal 
]  )Ower,  it  is 
thine." 

This  fantas- 
tic suggestion 
startled  Hendon 
out  of  his  rev- 
ery.  He  was 
about  to  thank 
the  king  and  put 
the  matter  aside 
with  saying  he 
had  only  done 
his  duty  and  de- 
sired no  reward, 
but  a  wiser 
thought  came 
into     his     head, 

and  he  asked  leave  to  be  silent  a  few  moments  and  consider  the 
gracious  offer  —  an  idea  which  the  king  gravel}^  approved,  remarking 
that  it  was  best  to  be  not  too  hasty  with  a  thing  of  such  great 
import. 

Miles  reflected  during  some  moments,  then  said  to  himself,  "  Yes, 
that  is  the  thing  to  do  —  by  any  other  means  it  were  impossible  to  get 


THOU   kAST  BEEN   SHAMEFULLY  ABUSED." 


146 


THE  PRINCE  AND   UIS  DELIVERER. 


at  it  —  and  certes,  this  hour's  experience  has  taught  me  'twould  be 
most  wearing  and  inconvenient  to  continue  it  as  it  is.  Yes,  I  will 
propose  it ;  'twas  a  happy  accident  that  I  did  not  throw  the  chance 
away."     Then  he  dropped  upon  one  knee  and  said  — 

"  My  poor  service  went  not  beyond  the  limit  of  a  subject's  simple 
duty,  and  therefore  hath  no  merit ;  but  since  your  majesty  is  pleased 


ils 


~',ri 


"  HE   DKOPPED   OX   ONE   KNEE." 


to  hold  it  worthy  some  reward,  I  take  heart  of  grace  to  make  petition 
to  this  effect.  Near  four  hundred  years  ago,  as  your  grace  knoweth, 
there  being  ill  blood  betwixt  John,  King  of  England,  and  the  King  of 
France,  it  was  decreed  that  two  champions  should  fight  together  in  the 
lists,  and  so  settle  the  dispute  by  what  is  called  the   arbitrament  of 


THE  PRINCE  AND   HIS  DELIVERER.  147 

God.  These  two  kings,  and  the  Spanish  king,  being  assembled  to 
witness  and  judge  the  conflict,  the  French  champion  appeared ;  but  so 
redoubtable  was  he,  that  our  English  knights  refused  to  measure 
weapons  with  him.  So  the  matter,  which  was  a  weighty  one,  was  like 
to  go  against  the  English  monarch  by  default.  Now  in  the  Tower  lay 
the  lord  de  Courcy,  the  mightiest  arm  in  England,  stripped  of  his 
honors  and  possessions,  and  wasting  with  long  captivity.  Appeal  was 
made  to  him ;  he  gave  assent,  and  came  forth  arrayed  for  battle ;  but 
no  sooner  did  the  Frenchman  glimpse  his  huge  frame  and  hear  his 
famous  name  but  he  fled  away,  and  the  French  king's  cause  was  lost. 
King  John  restored  de  Courcy's  titles  and  possessions,  and  said,  '  Name 
thy  wish  and  thou  shalt  have  it,  though  it  cost  me  half  my  kingdom ; ' 
whereat  de  Courcy,  kneeling,  as  I  do  now,  made  answer,  '  This,  then, 
I  ask,  my  liege  ;  that  I  and  my  successors  may  have  and  hold  the 
privilege  of  remaining  covered  in  the  presence  of  the  kings  of  England, 
henceforth  while  the  throne^  shall  last.'  The  boon  was  granted,  as 
your  majesty  knoweth  ;  and  there  hath  been  no  time,  these  four  hun- 
dred years,  that  that  line  has  failed  of  an  heir ;  and  so,  even  unto  this 
day,  the  head  of  that  ancient  house  still  weareth  his  hat  or  helm  before 
the  king's  majesty,  without  let  or  hindrance,  and  this  none  other  may 
do.^  Invoking  this  precedent  in  aid  of  my  prayer,  I  beseech  the  king 
to  grant  to  me  but  this  one  grace  and  privilege  —  to  my  more  than 
sufficient  reward  —  and  none  other,  to  wit :  that  I  and  my  heirs,  for- 
ever, may  sit  in  the  presence  of  the  majesty  of  England !  " 

"  Rise,  Sir  Miles  Hendon,  Knight,"  said  the  king,  gravely  —  giving 
the  accolade  with  Hendon's  sword  — "  rise,  and  seat  thyself.  Thy 
petition  is  granted.  Whilst  England  remains,  and  the  crown  con- 
tinues, the  privilege  shall  not  lapse." 

His  majesty  walked  apart,  musing,  and  Hendon  dropped  into  a 
chair  at  table,  observing  to  himself,  " 'Twas  a  brave  thought,  and  hath 

1  The  lords  of  Kingsale,  descendants  of  de  Courcy,  still  enjoy  this  curious  privilege. 


148 


THE   PlilNC'E  AND   HIS   DELIVERER. 


wrought  me  a  mighty  deliverance ;  my  legs  are  grievously  wearied. 
An"  I  had  not  thought  of  that,  I  must  have  had  to  stand  for  weeks, 
till  my  poor  lad's  wits  are  cured."  After  a  little,  he  went  on,  "  And  so 
I  am  become 
a  knight  of 
the  Kingdom 
of  Dreams 
and  Shadows ! 
A  most  odd 
and  strange 
position,  tru- 
ly, for  one  so 
matter-of-fact 
as  I.  I  will 
not  laugh  — 
no,  God  for- 
l)id,  for  this 
thing     which 

is  so  substanceless  to  me  is  real  to 
him.  And  to  me,  also,  in  one  way,  it 
is  not  a  falsity,  for  it  reflects  with  truth 
the  sweet  and  generous  spirit  that  is 
in  him."  After  a  pause :  "  Ah,  what 
if  he  should  call  me  by  my  fine  title 
before  folk  !  —  there'd  be  a  merry  con- 
trast betwixt  my  glory  and  my  raiment ! 

But  no  matter:    let  him   call   me  what  he  will,  so   it  please  him;  J 
shall  be  content." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


THE  DISAPPEARANCE  OF  THE  PRINCE. 


A  HEAYY  drowsiness  presently  fell  upon  the  two  comrades.  The 
king  said  — 

"  Remove  these  rags  "  —  meanino^  his  clothinsf. 

Hendon  disapparelled  the  boy  without  dissent  or  remark,  tucked 
him  up  in  bed,  then  glanced  about  the  room,  saying  to  himself,  rue- 
fully, "  He  hath  taken  my  bed  again,  as  before  —  marry,  what  shall  / 
do  ?  "  The  little  king  observed  his  perplexity,  and  dissipated  it  with 
a  word.     He  said,  sleepily  — 

"  Thou  wilt  sleep  athwart  the  door,  and  guard  it."  In  a  moment 
more  he  was  out  of  his  troubles,  in  a  deep  slumber. 

"  Dear  heart,  he  should  have  been  born  a  king !  "  muttered  Hendon, 
admiringly ;  "  he  play- 
eth  the  part  to  a  mar- 
vel." 

Then  he  stretched 
himself  across  the 
door,  on  the  floor, 
saying  contentedly  — 

"  I  have  lodged 
worse  for  seven  years  ; 
'twould  be  but  ill 
gratitude  to  Him 
above  to  find  fault  with  this."  "he  dropped  asleep 


4 


151 


152  THE  DISAPPEARANCE   OF   THE  PRINCE. 

He  dropped  asleep  as  the  dawn  appeared.  Toward  noon  he  rose, 
uncovered  his  unconscious  ward  —  a  section  at  a  time  —  and  took  his 
measure  with  a  string.  The  king  awoke,  just  as  he  had  completed  his 
work,  complained  of  the  cold,  and  asked  what  he  was  doing, 

"  'Tis  done,  now,  my  liege,"  said  Hendon ;  ''  I  have  a  bit  of  busi- 
ness outside,  but  will  presently  return ;  sleep  thou  again  —  thou 
needest  it.  There  —  let  me  cover  thy  head  also  —  thou'lt  be  warm 
the  sooner." 

The  king  was  back  in  dreamland  before  this  speech  was  ended. 
Miles  slipped  softly  out,  and  slipped  as  softly  in  again,  in  the  course 
of  thirty  or  forty  minutes,  with  a  complete  second-hand  suit  of  boy's 
clothing,  of  cheap  material,  and  showing  signs  of  wear ;  but  tid}'^,  and 
suited  to  the  season  of  the  year.  He  seated  himself,  and  began  to 
overhaul  his  purchase,  mumbling  to  himself  — 

"  A  longer  purse  would  have  got  a  better  sort,  but  when  one  has 
not  the  long  purse  one  must  be  content  with  what  a  short  one  may 
do  — 

" '  There  was  a  woman  in  our  town, 
In  our  town  did  dwell '  — 

"  He  stirred,  methinks  —  I  must  sing  in  a  less  thunderous  key  ; 
'tis  not  good  to  mar  his  sleep,  with  this  journey  before  him  and  he 
so  wearied  out,  poor  chap.  .  .  .  This  garment  —  'tis  well  enough  —  ;i 
stitch  here  and  another  one  there  will  set  it  aright.  This  other  is 
better,  albeit  a  stitch  or  two  will  not  come  amiss  in  it,  likewise.  .  .  . 
These  be  very  good  and  sound,  and  will  keep  his  small  feet  warm  and 
dry  —  an  odd  new  thing  to  him,  belike,  since  he  has  doubtless  been 
used  to  foot  it  bare,  winters  and  summers  the  same.  .  .  .  Would 
thread  were  bread,  seeing  one  getteth  a  year's  sufficiency  for  a  far- 
thing, and  such  a  brave  big  needle  without  cost,  for  mere  love.  Now 
sh{\Jl  I  have  the  demon's  own  time  to  thread  it ! " 


TUE  DISAPPEARANCE   OF   THE   PRINCE. 


153 


And  so  he  had.  He  did  as  men  liave  always  done,  and  probably 
always  will  do,  to  the  end  of  time  —  held  the  needle  still,  and  tried  to 
thrust  the  thread  through  the  eye,  which  is  the  opposite  of  a  woman's 
way.  Time  and  time  again  the  thread  missed  the  mark,  going  some- 
times on  one  side  of 
the  needle,  sometimes 
on  the  other,  some- 
times doubling  up 
against  the  shaft ;  but 
he  was  patient,  having 
been  through  these  ex- 
periences before,  when 
he  was  soldiering.  He 
/succeeded  at  last,  and 
took  up  the  garment 
that  had  lain  waiting, 
meantime,  across  his 
lap,  and  began  his 
work. 

"  The    inn   is   paid 

—  the  breakfast  that 
is    to    come,    included 

—  and  there  is  where- 
withal left  to  buy  a 
couple  of  donkeys  and 
meet    our   little    costs 

for  the  two  or  three  days  betwixt  this  and  the  plenty  that  awaits  us 
at  Hendon  Hall  — 

"  '  She  loved  her  hus '  — 
"  Body  o'  me  !     I  have  driven  the  needle  under  my  nail !  ...  It 


"these  be  very  good  and  sound." 


154  THE  DISAPPEARANCE   OF  THE  PRINCE. 

matters  little — 'tis  not  a  novelty  —  yet  'tis  not  a  convenience,  neitlier. 
.  .  .  We  shall  be  merry  there,  little  one,  never  doubt  it !  Tliy 
troubles  will  vanish,  there,  and  likewise  th}^  sad  distemper  — 

" '  She  loved  her  husband  dearilee, 
But  another  man  '  — 

"These  be  noble  large  stitches!'"  —  holding  the  garment  wp  and 
viewing  it  admiringly  —  "  they  have  a  grandeur  and  a  majesty  that  do 
cause  these  small  stingy  ones  of  the  tailor-man  to  look  mightily  paltry 
and  plebeian  — 

" '  She  loved  her  husband  dearilee, 
But  another  man  he  loved  she,' — 

"  Marry,  'tis  done  —  a  goodly  piece  of  work,  too,  and  wrought  with 
expedition.  Now  will  I  wake  him,  apparel  him,  pour  for  him,  feed 
him,  and  then  will  we  hie  us  to  the  mart  by  the  Tabard  inn  in  South- 
wark  and  —  be  pleased  to  rise,  my  liege  !  —  he  answereth  not — what 
ho,  my  liege !  —  of  a  truth  must  I  profane  his  sacred  person  with  a 
touch,  sith  his  slumber  is  deaf  to  speech.     What !  " 

He  threw  back  the  covers  —  the  boy  was  gone  ! 

He  stared  about  him  in  speechless  astonishment  for  a  moment ; 
noticed  for  the  first  time  that  his  ward's  ragged  raiment  was  also  miss- 
ing, then  he  began  to  rage  and  storm,  and  shout  for  the  innkeeper. — 
At  that  moment  a  servant  entered  with  the  breakfast, 

"  Explain,  thou  limb  of  Satan,  or  thy  time  is  come ! "  roared  the 
man  of  war,  and  made  so  savage  a  spring  toward  the  waiter  that  this 
latter  could  not  find  his  tongue,  for  the  instant,  for  fright  and  sur- 
prise.    "Where  is  the  boy?"  . 

In  disjointed  and  trembling  syllables  the  man  gave  the  information 
desired. 


THE  DISAPPEARANCE   OF   THE   PRINCE. 


155 


"  You  were  hardly  gone  from  the  place,  your  worship,  when  a 
youth  came  running  and  said  it  was  3'our  worship's  will  that  the  boy 
come   to  you  straight,  at  the   bridge-end  on  the  South wark  side.     I 


ill- 
ill;; 


^  brought  him  hither ;  and 
when  he  woke  the  lad  and 
gave  his  message,  the  lad 
did  grumble  some  little  for 
being  disturbed  'so  early,' 
as  he  called  it,  but  straight- 
way trussed  on  his  rags  and 
went  with  the  j^outh,  only 
saying   it    had    been    better 

manners  that  your  worship  came  yourself,  not  sent  a  stranger  —  and 

so"  — 

"  And  so  thou'rt  a  fool !  —  a  fool,  and  easily  cozened  —  hang  all  thy 

breed !     Yet  mayhap  no  hurt  is  done.     Possibly  no  liarm  is  meant  the 


156 


THE  DISAPPEAltANCK   OF   THE   PJIINCE. 


boy.  I  will  go  fetch  him.  Make  the  taljle  read}-.  Stay  I  the  cover- 
ings of  the  bed  were  disposed  as  if  one  lay  beneath  them  —  happened 
that  by  accident '!  " 

"•  I  know  not,  good  your  worship.     I  saw  the  youth  meddle  with 
tliem  —  he  that  came  for  the  boy.'' 

"  Thousand     deaths !     'twas 
done  to  deceive  me  —  'tis  plain 
"twas  done  to  gain  time.     Hark 
ye  I     Was  that  youth  alone  ?  " 
"  All  alone,  your  worship." 
"  Art  sure  ?  " 
''Sure,  your  worship.'" 
"  Collect  thy  scattered  wits 
—  bethink     thee  —  take     time, 
man." 

After  a  moment's  thought, 
the  servant  said  — 

"  When  he  came,  none  came 
with  him  ;  but  now  I  remember 
me  that  as  the  two  stepped  into 
the  throng  of  the  Bridge,  a 
ruffian-looking  man  plunged  out 
from  some  near  place  ;  and  just 
as  he  was  joining  them  "  — 

"  What  tJicu  ?  —  out  with 
it ! "  thundered  the  impatient 
Ilendon,  interrupting. 

"■  Just  then  the  crowd  lapped 
them  up  and  closed  them  in,  and 
I  saw  no  more,  being  called  by  my  master,  who  was  in  a  rage  because  a 
joint  that  tlie  scrivener  had  ordered  was  forgot,  though  I  take  all  the 


"hendon  fot.lowki)  aftkk  him. 


THE  DISAPPEARANCE   OF  THE  PRINCE.  157 

saints  to  witness  that  to  blame  vie  for  that  miscarriage  were  like  hold- 
ing the  unborn  babe  to  judgment  for  sins  com  "  — 

"  Out  of  my  sight,  idiot  I  Thy  prating  drives  me  mad  I  Hold ! 
whither  art  flying?  Canst  not  bide  still  an  instant?  Went  they 
toward  South wark  ?  " 

"  Even  so,  your  worship  —  for,  as  I  said  before,  as  to  that  detests 
able  joint,  the  babe  unborn   is  no  whit  more  blameless  than  "  — 

"  Art  here  'i/et !  And  prating  still  ?  Vanish,  lest  I  throttle  thee  !  " 
The  servitor  vanished.  Hendon  followed  after  him,  passed  him,  and 
plunged  down  the  stairs  two  steps  at  a  stride,  muttering,  "  'Tis  that 
scurvy  villain  that  claimed  he  was  his  son.  I  have  lost  thee,  my  poor 
little  mad  master  —  it  is  a  bitter  thought  —  and  I  had  come  to  love 
thee  so  !  No  I  by  book  and  bell,  not  lost !  Not  lost,  for  I  will  ransack 
the  land  till  I  find  thee  again.  Poor  child,  yonder  is  his  breakfast  — 
and  mine,  but  I  have  no  hunger  now  —  so,  let  the  rats  have  it  —  speed, 
speed  !  that  is  the  word  !  "  As  he  wormed  his  swift  way  through  the 
noisy  multitudes  upon  the  Bridge,  he  several  times  said  to  himself — 
clinging  to  the  thought  as  if  it  were  a  particularly  pleasing  one  —  "  He 
grumbled,  but  he  ivent  —  he  went,  yes,  because  he  thought  Miles  Hen- 
don asked  it,  sweet  lad  —  he  would  ne'er  have  done  it  for  another,  I 
know  it  well." 


CHAPTER    XIV, 


LE  ROI   EST  MORT  — VIVE  LE  ROI." 


Toward  daylight  of  the  same  morning,  Tom  Canty  stirred  out  of 
a  heavy  sleep  and  opened  his  eyes  in  the  dark.  He  lay  silent  a  few- 
moments,  trying  to  analyze  his  confused  thoughts  and  impressions,  and 
get  some  sort  of  meaning  out  of  them,  then  suddenly  he  burst  out  in 
a  rapturous  but  guarded  voice  — 

"  I  see  it  all,  I  see  it  all !  Now  God  be  thanked,  I  am  indeeji 
awake  at  last !  Come,  joy  !  vanish,  sorrow  !  Ho,  Nan  !  Bet !  kick  off 
your  straw  and  hie  ye  hither  to  my  side,  till  I  do  pour  into  your  un- 
believing ears  the  wildest  madcap  dream  that  ever  the  spirits  of  night 
did  conjure  up  to  astonish  the  soul  of  man  withal  I  ,  .  .  Ho,  Nan,  I 
say!  Bet!"  .  .  . 

A  dim  form  appeared  at  his  side,  and  a  voice  said  — 

"  Wilt  deign  to  deliver  thy  commands  ?  " 

"  Commands  ?  .  .  .  O,  woe  is  me,  I  know  thy  voice !  Speak,  thou 
—  who  am  I  ?  " 

"Thou?  In  sooth,  yesternight  wert  thou  the  prince  of  Wales, 
to-day  art  thou  my  most  gracious  liege,  Edward,  King  of  England." 

Tom  buried  his  head  among  his  pillows,  murmuring  plaintively  — 

"  Alack,  it  was  no  dream  !  Go  to  thy  rest,  sweet  sir  —  leave  me  to 
my  sorrows." 

Tom  slept  again,  and  after  a  time  he  had  this  pleasant  dream.  He 
thought   it   was  summer  and  he   was  })laying,   all   alone,  in    the    fair 

161 


162 


LE  ROI  EST  MORT—  VIVE  LE  ROir 


meadow  called  Goodman's  Fields,  when  a  dwarf  only  a  foot  high,  with 
long  red  whiskers  and  a  humped  back  appeared  to  him  suddenly  and 
said,  "  Dig,  by  that  stump."  He  did  so,  and  found  twelve  bright  new 
pennies  —  wonderful  riches  !  Yet  this  was  not  the  best  of  it ;  for  the 
dwarf  said  — 

"  I  know  thee.     Thou  art  a  good  lad  and  a  deserving ;  thy  dis- 


WILT   DEIGN   TO   DELIVER   THY   COMMANDS 


tresses  shall  end,  for  the  day  of  thy  reward  is  come.  Dig  here  every 
seventh  day,  and  thou  shalt  find  always  the  same  treasure,  twelve 
bright  new  pennies.     Tell  none  —  keep  the  secret." 

Then  the  dwarf  vanished,  and  Tom  flew  to  Offal  Court  with  his 
prize,  saying  to  himself,  "  Every  night  will  I  give  my  father  a  penny ; 
he  will  think  I  begged  it,  it  will  glad  his  heart,  and  I  shall  no  more  be 


''  LE  EOI  EST  MORT —  VIVE  LE  ROi:'  163 

beaten.  One  penny  every  week  the  good  j)riest  that  teacheth  me  shall 
have ;  mother,  Nan  and  Bet  the  other  four.  We  be  done  with  hunger 
and  rags,  now,  done  with  fears  and  frets  and  savage  usage." 

In  his  dream  he  reached  his  sordid  home  all  out  of  breath,  but  with 
eyes  dancing  with  grateful  enthusiasm ;  cast  four  of  his  pennies  into 
his  mother's  lap  and  cried  out  — 

"They  are  for  thee  !  —  all  of  them,  every  one  ! — for  thee  and  Nan 
aijd  Bet  — and  honestly  come  by,  not  begged  nor  stolen !  " 

The  happy  and  astonished  mother  strained  him  to  her  breast  and 
exclaimed  — 

"  It  waxeth  late  —  may  it  please  your  majesty  to  rise  ?  " 

Ah,  that  was  not  the  answer  he  was  expecting.  The  dream  had 
snapped  asunder  —  he  was  awake. 

He  opened  liis  eyes  —  the  richly  clad  First  Lord  of  the  Bedchamber 
was  kneeling  by  his  couch.  The  gladness  of  the  lying  dream  faded 
away  —  the  poor  boy  recognized  that  he  was  still  a  captive  and  a  king. 
The  room  was  filled  with  courtiers  clothed  in  purple  mantles  —  the 
mourning  color  —  and  with  noble  servants  of  the  monarch.  Tom  sat 
up  in  bed  and  gazed  out  from  the  heavy  silken  curtains  upon  this  fine 
company. 

The  weighty  business  of  dressing  began,  and  one  courtier  after 
another  knelt  and  paid  his  court  and  offered  to  the  little  King  his  con- 
dolences upon  his  heavy  loss,  whilst  the  dressing  proceeded.  In  the 
beginning,  a  shirt  was  taken  up  by  the  Chief  Equerry  in  Waiting,  who 
passed  it  to  the  First  Lord  of  the  Buckhounds,  who  passed  it  to  the 
Second  Gentleman  of  the  Bedchamber,  Avho  passed  it  to  the  Head 
Ranger  of  Windsor  Forest,  who  passed  it  to  the  Third  Groom  of  the 
Stole,  who  passed  it  to  the  Chancellor  Royal  of  the  Duchy  of  Lancas- 
ter, who  passed  it  to  the  Master  of  the  Wardrobe,  who  passed  it  to 
Norroy  King-at-Arms,  who  passed  it  to  the  Constable  of  the  Tower, 
who  passed  it  to  the  Chief  Steward  of  the  Household,  who  passed  it 


164 


LE  ROI  EST  MOBT —  VIVE  LE  ROi:' 


to  the  Hereditary  Grand  Diaperer,  who  passed  it  to  the  Lord  High 
Admiral  of  Enghxnd,  who  passed  it  to  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
who  passed  it  to  the  First  Lord  of  the  Bedchamber,  who  took  what  was 
left  of  it  and  put  it  on  Tom.  Poor  little  wondering  chap,  it  reminded 
him  of  passing  buckets  at  a  fire. 

Each  garment  in  its  turn  had  to  go  through  this  slow  and  solemn 
process ;  consequently  Tom  grew  very  weary  of  the  ceremony ;  so 
weary  that  he  felt  an  almost  gushing  gratefulness  when  he  at  last  saw 
his  long  silken  hose  begin  the  journey  down  the  line  and  knew  that 


"the  first  lord  of  the  bedchamber  received  the  hose." 


the  end  of  the  matter  was  drawing  near.  But  he  exulted  too  soon. 
The  First  Lord  of  the  Bedchamber  received  the  hose  and  was  about  to 
incase  Tom's  legs  in  them,  when  a  sudden  flush  invaded  his  face  and 
he  hurriedly  hustled  the  things  back  into  the  hands  of  the  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  with  an  astounded  look  and  a  whispered,  '■'  See,  my 
lord  ! "  —  pointing  to  a  something  connected  with  the  hose.  The 
Archbishop  paled,  then  flushed,  and  passed  the  hose  to  the  Lord  High 
Admiral,  whispering,  "  See,  my  lord !  "  The  Admiral  passed  the  hose 
to  the  Hereditary  Grand  Diaperer,  and  had  hardly  breath  enough  in 


"LE  ROI  EST  MORT —  VIVE  LE  ROI."  165 

his  body  to  ejaculate,  "  See,  my  lord !  "  The  hose  drifted  backward 
along  the  line,  to  the  Chief  Steward  of  the  Household,  the  Constable 
of  the  Tower,  Norroy  King-at-Arms,  the  Master  of  the  Wardrobe,  the 
Chancellor  Royal  of  the  Duchy  of  Lancaster,  the  Third  Groom  of  the 
Stole,  the  Head  Ranger  of  Windsor  Forest,  the  Second  Gentleman  of 
the  Bedchamber,  the  First  Lord  of  the  Buckhounds,  —  accompanied 
always  with  that  amazed  and  frightened  "  See  !  see  !  '*  —  till  they 
finally  reached  the  hands  of  the  Chief  Equerry  in  Waiting,  who  gazed 
a  moment,  with  a  pallid  face,  upon  what  had  caused  all  this  dismay, 
then  hoarsely  whispered,  "  Body  of  my  life,  a  tag  gone  from  a  truss- 
point  I  —  to  the  Tower  with  the  Head  Keeper  of  the  King's  Hose  !  "  — 
after  which  he  leaned  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  First  Lord  of  the 
Buckhounds  to  regather  his  vanished  strength  whilst  fresh  hose,  with- 
out any  damaged  strings  to  them,  were  brought. 

But  all  things  must  have  an  end,  and  so  in  time  Tom  Canty  was  in 
a  condition  to  get  out  of  bed.  The  proper  official  poured  water,  the 
proper  official  engineered  the  washing,  the  proper  official  stood  by  with 
a  towel,  and  by  and  by  Tom  got  safely  through  the  purifying  stage 
and  was  ready  for  the  services  of  the  Hairdresser-royal.  When  he  at 
length  emerged  from  this  master's  hands,  he  was  a  gracious  figure  and 
as  pretty  as  a  girl,  in  his  mantle  and  trunks  of  purple  satin,  and 
purple-plumed  cap.  He  now  moved  in  state  toward  his  breakfast 
room,  through  the  midst  of  the  courtly  assemblage  ;  and  as  he  passed, 
these  fell  back,  leaving  his  way  free,  and  dropped  upon  their  knees. 

After  breakfast  he  was  conducted,  with  regal  ceremony,  attended 
by  his  great  officers  and  his  guard  of  fifty  Gentlemen  Pensioners  bear- 
ing gilt  battle-axes,  to  the  throne-room,  where  he  proceeded  to  transact 
business  of  state.  His  "uncle,"  lord  Hertford,  took  his  stand  by  the 
throne,  to  assist  the  royal  mind  with  wise  counsel. 

The  body  of  illustrious  men  named  by  the  late  king  as  his  execu- 
tors, appeared,  to  ask  Tom's  approval  of  certain  acts  of  theirs  —  rather 


166 


LE  ROI  EST  MORT —  VIVE  LE  ROI." 


a  form,  and  yet  not  wholly  a  form,  since  there  was  no  Protector  as  yet. 
The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  made  report  of  the  decree  of  the 
Council  of  Executors  concerning  the  obsequies  of  his  late  most  illus- 
trious majesty,  and  finished  by  reading  the  signatures  of  the  Execu- 
tors, to-wit:  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury;  the  Lord  Chancellor  of 


'.  y^^f'  y 


"A   SECBETAKY   OF   STATE   I'KESENTED   AN   OltBEK." 


England ;  William  Lord  St.  John  ;  John  Lord  Russell ;  Edward  Earl 
of  Hertford;  John  Viscount  Lisle  ;  Cuthbert  Bishop  of  Durham  — 

Tom  was  not  listening  —  an  earlier  clause  of  the  document  was  puz- 
zling him.     At  this  point  he  turned  and  whispered  to  lord  Hertford  — 

"What  day  did  he  say  the  burial  hath  been  appointed  for?" 


-LE   ROI  EST  MORT —  VIVE  LE  ROL"  167 

"  The  16th  of  the  commg  month,  my  liege." 

"  'Tis  a  strange  folly.     Will  he  keep?  " 

Poor  chap,  he  was  still  new  to  the  customs  of  royalty  ;  he  was  used 
to  seeing  the  forlorn  dead  of  Offal  Court  hustled  out  of  the  way  with 
a  very  different  sort  of  expedition.  However,  the  lord  Hertford  set 
his  mind  at  rest  with  a  word  or  two. 

A  secretary  of  state  presented  an  order  of  the  Council  appointing 
the  morrow  at  eleven  for  the  reception  of  the  foreign  ambassadors,  and 
desired  the  king's  assent. 

Tom  turned  an  inquiring  look  toward  Hertford,  who  whispered  — 

'"'  Your  majesty  will  signify  consent.  They  come  to  testify  their 
royal  masters'  sense  of  the  heavy  calamity  which  hath  visited  j^our 
grace  and  the  realm  of  England." 

Tom  did  as  he  was  bidden.  Another  secretary  began  to  read  a 
preamble  concerning  the  expenses  of  the  late  king's  household,  which 
had  amounted  to  X 28,000  during  the  preceding  six  months — a  sum  so 
vast  that  it  made  Tom  Canty  gasp  ;  he  gasped  again  when  the  fact 
appeared  that  .£20,000  of  this  money  were  still  owing  and  unpaid;^ 
and  once  more  when  it  appeared  that  the  king's  coffers  were  about 
empty,  and  his  twelve  hundred  servants  much  embarrassed  for  lack  of 
the  wages  due  them.     Tom  spoke  out,  with  lively  apprehension  — 

"  We  be  going  to  the  dogs,  'tis  plain.  'Tis  meet  and  necessary  that 
we  take  a  smaller  house  and  set  the  servants  at  large,  sith  they  be  of  no 
value  but  to  make  delay,  and  trouble  one  with  offices  that  harass  the 
spirit  and  shame  the  soul,  they  misbecoming  any  but  a  doll,  that  hath 
nor  brains  nor  hands  to  help  itself  withal.  I  remember  me  of  a  small 
house  that  standetK  over  against  the  fish-market,  by  Billingsgate  "  — 

A  sharp  pressure  upon  Tom's  arm  stopped  his  foolish  tongue  and 
sent  a  blush  ta  his  face ;  but  no  countenance  there  betrayed  any  sign 
that  this  strai\ge  speech  had  been  remarked  or  given  concern. 

1  Hume. 


168  "LE  ROI  EST  MORT —  VIVE  LE   ROI." 

A  secretary  made  report  that  forasmuch  as  the  late  king  had  pro- 
vided in  his  will  for  conferring  the  ducal  degree  upon  the  earl  of 
Hertford  and  raising  his  brother,  Sir  Thomas  Seymour,  to  the  peerage, 
and  likewise  Hertford's  son  to  an  earldom,  together  with  similar 
aggrandizements  to  other  great  servants  of  the  crown,  the  Council  had 
resolved  to  hold  a  sitting  on  the  16th  of  February  for  the  delivering 
and  confirming  of  these  honors ;  and  that  meantime,  the  late  king  not 
having  granted,  in  writing,  estates  suitable  to  the  support  of  these 
dignities,  the  Council,  knowing  his  private  wishes  in  that  regard,  had 
thought  proper  to  grant  to  Seymour  "  X500  lands,"  and  to  Hertford's 
son  "  800  pound  lands,  and  300  pound  of  the  next  bishop's  lands 
which  should  fall  vacant,"  —  his  present  majesty  being  willing.^ 

Tom  was  about  to  blurt  out  something  about  the  propriety  of  pay- 
ing the  late  King's  debts  first,  before  squandering  all  this  money ;  but 
a  timely  touch  upon  his  arm,  from  the  thoughtful  Hertford,  saved  him 
this  indiscretion ;  wherefore  he  gave  the  royal  assent,  without  spoken 
comment,  but  with  much  inward  discomfort.  While  he  sat  reflecting, 
a  moment,  over  the  ease  with  which  he  was  doing  strange  and  glitter- 
ing miracles,  a  happy  thought  shot  into  his  mind :  why  not  make  his 
mother  Duchess  of  Offal  Court  and  give  her  an  estate  ?  But  a  sorrow- 
ful thought  swept  it  instantly  away :  he  was  only  a  king  in  name, 
these  grave  veterans  and  great  nobles  were  his  masters  ;  to  them  his 
mother  was  only  the  creature  of  a  diseased  mind ;  they  would  simply 
listen  to  his  project  with  unbelieving  ears,  then  send  for  the  doctor. 

The  dull  work  went  tediously  on.  Petitions  were  read,  and  proc- 
lamations, patents,  and  all  manner  of  wordy,  repetitious  and  wearisome 
papers  relating  to  the  public  business;  and  at  last  Tom  sighed  patheti- 
cally and  ■  murmured  to  himself,  "  In  what  have  I  offended,  that  the 
good  God  should  take  me  away  from  the  fields  and  the  free  air  and  the 
sunshine,  to  shut  me  up  here  and  make  me  a  king  and  afflict  me  so  ?  " 

1  Hume. 


''LE  liOI  EST  MORT—  VIVE  LE  ROL"  169 

Then, his  poor  muddled  head  nodded  a  while,  and  presently  drooped 
to  his  shoulder ;  and  the  business  of  the  empire  came  to  a  stand-still 
for  want  of  that  august  factor,  the  ratifying  power.  Silence  ensued, 
around  the  slumbering  child,  and  the  sages  of  the  realm  ceased  from 
their  deliberations. 

During  the  forenoon,  Tom  had  an  enjoyable  hour,  by  permission  of 
his  keepers,  Hertford  and  St.  John,  with  the  lady  Elizabeth  and  the 
little  lady  Jane  Grey  ;  though  the  spirits  of  the  princesses  were  rather 
subdued  by  the  mighty  stroke  that  had  fallen  upon  the  royal  house ; 
and  at  the  end  of  the  visit  his  "  elder  sister  "  —  afterwards  the  "  Bloody 
Mary "  of  history  —  chilled  him  with  a  solemn  interview  which  had 
but  one  merit  in  his  eyes,  its  brevit3^  He  had  a  few  moments  to  him- 
self, and  then  a  slim  lad  of  about  twelve  years  of  age  was  admitted  to 
his  presence,  whose  clothing,  except  his  snowy  ruff  and  the  laces  about 
his  wrists,  was  of  black,  —  doublet,  hose  and  all.  He  bore  no  badge  of 
mourning  but  a  knot  of  purple  ribbon  on  his  shoulder.  He  advanced 
hesitatingly,  with  head  bowed  and  bare,  and  dropped  upon  one  knee  in 
front  of  Tom.  Tom  sat  still  and  contemplated  him  soberly  a  moment. 
Then  he  said  — 

"  Rise,  lad.     Who  art  thou  ?     What  wouldst  have  ?  " 

The  boy  rose,  and  stood  at  graceful  ease,  but  with  an  aspect  of 
concern  in  his  face.     He  said  — 

"•  Of  a  surety  thou  must  remember  me,  my  lord.  I  am  thy  whip- 
ping-boy." 

"  My  ivhipping-hoy  ?  " 

"  The  same,  your  grace.     I  am  Humphrey  —  Humphrey  Marlow." 

Tom  perceived  that  here  was  some  one  whom  his  keepers  ought  to 
have  posted  him  about.  The  situation  was  delicate.  What  should 
he  do?  —  pretend  he  knew  this  lad,  and  then  betray  by  his  every 
utterance,  that  he  had  never  heard  of  him  before?  No,  that  would 
not  do.     An  idea  came  to  his  relief:  accidents  like  this  might  be  likelj 


170 


''LE  BOI  EST  MORT —  VIVE  LE  EOI. 


to  happen  with  some  frequency,  now  that  business  urgencies  would 
often  call  Hertford  and  St.  John  from  his  side,  they  being  members  of 
the  council  of  executors ;  therefore  perhaps  it  would  be  well  to  strike 
out  a  plan  himself  to  meet  the  requirements  of  such  emergencies. 
Yes,  that  would  be  a  wise  course  —  he  would. practise  on  this  boy,  and 


SCLaii: 


"the  boy  kose,  and  stood  at  gkaceful,  ease. 


see  what  sort  of  success  he  might  achieve.  So  he  stroked  his  brow, 
perplexedly,  a  moment  or  two,  and  presently  said  — 

"  Now  I  seem  to  remember  thee  somewhat  —  but  my  wit  is  clogged 
and  dim  with  suffering  "  — 

"  Alack,  my  poor  master  !  "  eiaculated  the  whipping-boy,  with  feel- 
ing ;  adding,  to  himself,  "  In  truth  'tis  as  they  said  —  liis  mind  is  gone 
—  alas,  poor  soul !     But  misfortune  catch  me,  how  am  I  forgetting ! 


''LE  BOI  EST  MOBT —  VIVE  LE  ROL"  171 

they  said  one  must  not  seem  to    observe    that    aught   is  wrong  with 
him." 

''  'Tis  strange  liow  my  memory  doth  wanton  with  me  these  days," 
said  Tom.  "  But  mind  it  not  —  I  mend  apace  —  a  little  clew  doth 
often  serve  to  bring  me  back  again  the  things  and  names  which  had 
escaped  me.  [And  not  they,  only,  forsooth,  but  e'en  such  as  I  ne'er 
heard  before  —  as  this  lad  shall  see.]     Give  thy  business  speech." 

"  'Tis  matter  of  small  weight,  my  liege,  yet  will  I  touch  upon  it  an' 
it  please  your  grace.  Two  days  gone  by,  when  your  majesty  faulted 
thrice  in  your  Greek  —  in  the  morning  lessons,  —  dost  remember  it?  " 

""Y-e-s  —  methinks  I  do.  [It  is  not  much  of  a  lie  —  an'  I  had 
meddled  with  the  Greek  at  all,  I  had  not  faulted  simply  thrice,  but 
forty  times.]      Yes,  I  do  recall  it,  now  —  go  on." 

—  "  The  master,  being  wroth  with  what  he  termed  such  slovenly 
and  doltish  work,  did  promise  that  he  would  soundly  whip  me  for  it  — 
and"  — 

"  Whip  thee ! "  said  Tom,  astonished  out  of  his  presence  of  mind. 
"Why  should  he  whip  thee^ioT  faults  of  mine?  " 

"  Ah,  your  grace  forgetteth  again.  He  always  scourgeth  me,  when 
thou  dost  fail  in  thy  lessons." 

"  True,  true  —  I  had  forgot.  Thou  teaehest  me  in  private  —  then 
if  I  fail,  he  argueth  that  thy  office  was  lamely  done,  and"  — 

"  O,  my  liege,  what  words  are  these  ?  I,  the  humblest  of  thy  ser- 
vants, presume  to  teach  thee?"" 

"  Then  where  is  thy  blame  ?  What  riddle  is  this  ?  Am  I  in  truth 
gone  mad,  or  is  it  thou?     Explain — speak  out." 

"  But  good  your  majesty,  there's  nought  that  needeth  simplifying.  — 
None  may  visit  the  sacred  person  of  the  prince  of  Wales  with  blows ; 
wherefore  when  he  faulteth,  'tis  I  that  take  them ;  and  meet  it  is  and 
right,  for  that  it  is  mine  office  and  my  livelihood."  ^ 

1  See  Note  8,  at  end  of  volume. 


172 


LE   ROI  EST  MORT —  VIVE  LE  ROV 


Tom  stared  at  the  tranquil  boy,  observing  to  himself,  "  Lo,  it  is  a 
wonderful  thing,  —  a  most  strange  and  curious  trade ;  I  marvel  they 
have  not  hired  a  boy  to  take  my  combings  and  my  dressings  for  me  — 
would  heaven  they  would  I  —  an'  they  will  do  this  thing,  I  will  take 
my  lashings  in  mine  own  person,  giving  God  thanks  for  the  change."' 
Then  he  said  aloud  — 

"■And  hast  thou  been  beaten,  poor  friend,  according  to  the 
promise  ?  " 

"  No,  good  your  majesty,  my  punishment  was  appointed  for  this 
day,  and  perad venture  it  may  be  annulled,  as  unbefit- 
ting the  season  of  mourning  that  is  come  upon 
us ;   I  know  not,  and   so   have    made   bold   to 
come  hither  and  remind  your  grace  about  your 
gracious    promise    to    intercede   in   my   be- 
half"— 

"  With   the    master  ?     To   save 
thee  thy  whipping  ?  " 

"  Ah,  thou  dost  remember  !  " 
"  My    memory    mendeth,    thou 
seest.     Set  thy  mind  at  ease  —  thy 
back  shall  go  unscathed  —  I  will  see 
to  it." 

"  O,   thanks,    my   good    lord ! " 
cried  the   boy,  dropping  upon   his 
knee     again.       "  Mayhap     I     have 
ventured    far  enow  ;    and   yet "... 

Seeing  Master  Humphrey  hesitate,  Tom  encouraged  him  to  go  on, 
saying  he  was  "  in  the  granting  mood." 

"  Then  will  I  speak  it  out,  for  it  lieth  near  my  heart.  Sith  thou 
art  no  more  prince  of  Wales  but  King,  thou  canst  order  matters  as 
thou  wilt,  with  none  to  say  thee  nay ;  wherefore  it  is  not  in  reason 


'TIS   I  THAT  TAKE  THEM.' 


''LE  ROI  EST  MORT —  VIVE  LE  EOI."  173 

that  thou  wilt  longer  vex  thyself  with  dreary  studies,  but  wilt  burn 
thy  books  and  turn  thy  mind  to  things  less  irksome.  Then  am  I 
ruined,  and  mine  orphan  sisters  with  me  !  " 

"  Ruined  ?      Prithee  how  ?  " 

"  My  back  is  my  bread,  O  my  gracious  liege  !  if  it  go  idle,  I  starve. 
An'  thou  cease  from  study,  mine  office  is  gone,  thou'lt  need  no  whip- 
ping-boy.    Do  not  turn  me  away  !  " 

Tom  was  touched  with  this  pathetic  distress.  He  said,  with  a  right 
royal  burst  of  generosity  — 

"  Discomfort  thyself  no  further,  lad.  Thine  office  shall  be  perma- 
nent in  thee  and  thy  line,  forever."  Then  he  struck  the  boy  a  light 
blow  on  the  shoulder  with  the  flat  of  his  sword,  exclaiming,  "  Rise, 
Humphrey  Marlow,  Hereditary  Grand  Whipping-Boy  to  the  royal 
house  of  England !  Banish  sorrow  —  I  will  betake  me  to  my  books 
again,  and  study  so  ill  that  they  must  in  justice  treble  thy  wage,  so 
mightily  shall  the  business  of  thine  office  be  augmented." 

The  grateful  Humphrey  responded  fervidly  — 

"  Thanks,  O  most  noble  master,  this  princely  lavishness  doth  far 
surpass  my  most  distempered  dreams  of  fortune.  Now  shall  I  be 
happy  all  my  days,  and  all  the  house  of  Marlow  after  me." 

Tom  had  wit  enough  to  perceive  that  here  was  a  lad  who  could  be 
useful  to  him.  He  encouraged  Humphrey  to  talk,  and  he  was  nothing 
loath.  He  was  delighted  to  believe  that  he  was  helping  in  Tom's 
"'  cure ; "  for  always,  as  soon  as  he  had  finished  calling  back  to  Tom's 
diseased  mind  the  various  particulars  of  his  experiences  and  adven- 
tures in  the  royal  school-room  and  elsewhere  about  the  palace,  he 
noticed  that  Tom  was  then  able  to  "  recall "  the  circumstances  quite 
clearly.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  Tom  found  himself  well  freighted  with 
very  valuable  information  concerning  personages  and  matters  pertain- 
ing to  the  Court ;  so  he  resolved  to  draw  instruction  from  this  source 
daily  ;  and  to  this  end  he  would  give  order  to  admit  Humphrey  to  the 


174  "-L-B  BOI  EST  MORT —  VIVE  LE  ROir 

royal  closet  whenever  he  might  come,  provided  the  majesty  of  England 
was  not  engaged  with  other  people.  Humphrey  had  hardly  been  dis- 
missed when  my  lord  Hertford  arrived  with  more  trouble  for  Tom. 

He  said  that  the  lords  of  the  Council,  fearing  that  some  over- 
wrought report  of  the  king's  damaged  health  might  have  leaked  out 
and  got  abroad,  they  deemed  it  wise  and  best  that  his  majesty  should 
begin  to  dine  in  public  after  a  day  or  two  —  his  wholesome  complexion 
and  vigorous  step,  assisted  by  a  carefull}-  guarded  repose  of  manner 
and  ease  and  grace  of  demeanor,  would  more  surely  quiet  the  general 
pulse  —  in  case  any  evil  rumors  had  gone  about  —  than  any  other 
scheme  that  could  be  devised. 

Then  the  earl  proceeded,  very  delicately,  to  instruct  Tom  as  to  the 
observances  proper  to  the  stately  occasion,  under  the  rather  thin  dis- 
guise of  "  reminding  "  him  concerning  things  already  known  to  him  ; 
but  to  his  vast  gratification  it  turned  out  that  Tom  needed  very  little 
help  in  this  line  —  he  had  been  making  use  of  Humphrey  in  that  direc- 
tion, for  Humphrey  had  mentioned  that  within  a  few  days  he  was  to 
begin  to  dine  in  public ;  having  gathered  it  from  the  swift-winged 
gossip  of  the  Court.     Tom  kept  these  facts  to  himself,  however. 

Seeing  the  royal  memory  so  improved,  the  earl  ventured  to  apply 
a  few  tests  to  it,  in  an  apparently  casual  way,  to  find  out  how  far  its 
amendment  had  progressed.  The  results  were  happy,  here  and  there, 
in  spots  —  spots  where  Humphrey's  tracks  remained  —  and  on  the 
whole  my  lord  was  greatly  pleased  and  encouraged.  So  encouraged 
was  he,  indeed,  that  he  spoke  up  and  said  in  a  quite  hopeful  voice  — 

"Now  am  I  persuaded  that  if  your  majesty  will  but  tax  youi 
memory  yet  a  little  further,  it  will  resolve  the  puzzle  of  the  Great  Seal 
—  a  loss  which  was  of  moment  yesterday,  although  of  none  to-day, 
since  its  term  of  service  ended  with  our  late  lord's  life.  May  it  please 
your  grace  to  make  the  trial  ?  " 

Tom  was  at   sea  —  a   Great  Seal  was  a  somethino-  which  he  was 


"i£  ROI  EST  MOET —  VIVE  LE  BOI." 


175 


totally  unacquainted  with.     After  a  moment's  hesitation  he  looked  up 
innocently  and  asked  — 

"  What  was  it  like,  my  lord  ?  " 

The    earl    started,    almost    imperceptibly,   muttering    to    himself. 


'fv0PS\^^^^^MH^<''^ 


IF   YOUK   MAJESTY  WILL   BUT  TAX   YOUK   MEMORY. 


"Alack,  his  wits  are  flown  again!— it  was  ill  wisdom  to  lead  him  on 
to  strain  them"  — then  he  deftly  turned  the  talk  to  other  matters,  with 
the  purpose  of  sweeping  the  unlucky  Seal  out  of  Tom's  thoughts  — a 
purpose  which  easily  succeeded. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


TOM   AS  KING. 


The  next  day  the  foreign  ambassadors  came,  with  their  gorgeous 
trains ;  and  Tom,  throned  in  awful  state,  received  them.  The  splen- 
dors of  the  scene  delighted  his  eye  and  fired  his  imagination,  at  first, 
but  the  audience  was  long  and  dreary,  and  so  were  most  of  the 
addresses  —  wherefore,  what  began  as  a  pleasure,  grew  into  weariness 
and  homesickness  b}^  and  by.  Tom  said  tlie  words  which  Hertford  put 
into  his  mouth  from  time  to  time,  and  tried  hard  to  acquit  himself 
satisfactorily,  but  he  was  too  new  to  such  things,  and  too  ill  at  ease  to 
accomplish  more  than  a  tolerable  success.  He  looked  sufficiently  like 
a  king,  but  he  was  ill  able  to  feel  like  one.  He  was  cordially  glad 
when  the  ceremony  was  ended. 

The  larger  part  of  his  day  was  "wasted"  —  as  he  termed  it,  in  his 
own  mind  —  in  labors  pertaining  to  his  royal  office.  Even  the  two 
hours  devoted  to  certain  princely  pastimes  and  recreations  were  rather 
a  burden  to  him,  than  otherwise,  they  were  so  fettered  by  restrictions 
and  ceremonious  observances.  However  he  had  a  private  hour  with 
his  whipping-boy  which  he  counted  clear  gain,  since  he  got  both  enter- 
tainment and  needful  information  out  of  it. 

Tlie  third  day  of  Tom  Canty's  Kingship  came  and  went  much  as 
the  others  had  done,  but  there  was  a  lifting  of  his  cloud  in  one  way  — 
he  felt  less  uncomfortable  than  at  first ;  he  was  getting  a  little  used  to 
his  circumstances  and  surroundings ;  his  chains  still  galled,  but  not  all 

179 


180  TOM  AS  KING. 

the  time ;  he  found  that  the  presence  and  homage  of  the  great  afflicted 
and  embarrassed  him  less  and  less  sharply  with  every  hour  that  drifted 
over  his  head. 

But  for  one  single  dread,  he  could  have  seen  the  fourth  day  ap- 
proach without  serious  distress  —  the  dining  in  public ;  it  was  to  begin 
that  day.  There  were  greater  matters  in  the  programme  —  for  on  that 
day  he  would  have  to  preside  at  a  Council  which  would  take  his  views 
and  commands  concerning  the  policy  to  be  pursued  toward  various  for- 
eign nations  scattered  far  and  near  over  the  great  globe ;  on  that  day, 
too,  Hertford  would  be  formally  chosen  to  the  grand  office  of  Lord 
Protector ;  other,  things  of  note  were  appointed  for  that  fourth  day, 
also ;  but  to  Tom  they  were  all  insignificant  compared  with  the  ordeal 
of  dining  all  by  himself  with  a  multitude  of  curious  eyes  fastened  upon 
him  and  a  multitude  of  mouths  whispering  comments  upon  his  per- 
formance, —  and  upon  his  mistakes,  if  he  should  be  so  unlucky  as  to 
make  any. 

Still,  nothing  could  stop  that  fourth  day,  and  so  it  came.  It  found 
poor  Tom  low-spirited  and  absent-minded,  and  this  mood  continued ; 
he  could  not  shake  it  off.  The  ordinary  duties  of  the  morning  dragged 
upon  his  hands,  and  wearied  him.  Once  more  he  felt  the  sense  of 
captivity  heavy  upon  him. 

Late  in  the  forenoon  he  was  in  a  large  audience  chamber,  convers- 
ing with  the  earl  of  Hertford  and  dully  awaiting  the  striking  of  the 
hour  appointed  for  a  visit  of  ceremony  from  a  considerable  number 
of  great  officials  and  courtiers. 

After  a  little  while,  Tom,  who  had  wandered  to  a  window  and 
become  interested  in  the  life  and  movement  of  the  great  highway 
beyond  the  palace  gates  —  and  not  idly  interested,  but  longing  with 
all  his  heart  to  take  part  in  person  in  its  stir  and  freedom  —  saw  the 
van  of  a  hooting  and  shouting  mob  of  disorderly  n>en,  women  and 
children  of  the  lowest  and  poorest  degree  approaching  from  up  the 
road. 


TOM  AS  KING. 


181 


"  I  would  I  knew  what  'tis  about !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  all  a  boy's 
curiosity  in  such  happenings. 

"  Thou  art  the  king ! "  solemnly  responded  the  earl,  with  a  rever- 
ence.    " Have  I  your  grace's  leave  to  act? " 

"  O  blithely,  yes  !  O  gladly  yes  ! "  exclaimed  Tom,  excitedly,  add- 
insr  to  himself  with  a  livelv  sense 
of  satisfaction,  "  In  truth,  being  a 
king  is  not  all  dreariness  —  it 
hath  its  compensations  and  con- 
veniences." 

The  earl  called  a  page,  and 
sent  him  to  the  captain  of  the 
guard  with  the  order  — 

"  Let  the  mob  be  halted,  and 
inquiry  made  concerning  the  occa- 
sion of  its  movement.  By  the 
king's  command !  " 

A  few  seconds  later  a  long  rank  of 
the  royal  guards,  cased  in  flashing  steel, 
filed  out  at  the  gates  and  formed  across 
the  highway  in  front  of  the  multitude. 
A  messenger  returned,  to  report  that 
the  crowd  were  following  a  man,  a 
woman,  and  a  young  girl  to  execution 
for  crimes  committed  against  the  peace 
and  dignity  of  the  realm. 

Death  —  and   a    violent   death  —  for 
these  poor  unfortunates  I      The   thought  wrung   Tom's   heart-strings. 
The  spirit  of  compassion  took  control  of  him,  to  the  exclusion  of  all 
other  considerations ;  he  never  thought  of  the  offended  laws,  or  of  the 
grief  or  loss  which  these  three  criminals  had  inflicted  upon  their  victims, 


TOM   HAD   AVANDERED  TO   A 
"WINDOW." 


182  TOM  AS  KING. 

he  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  scaffokl  and  the  grisly  fate  hanging 
over  the  heads  of  the  condemned.  His  concern  made  him  even  forget, 
for  the  moment,  that  he  was  but  the  false  shadow  of  a  king,  not  the 
substance ;  and  before  he  knew  it  he  had  blurted  out  the  command  — 

"  Bring  them  here  !  " 

Then  he  blushed  scarlet,  and  a  sort  of  apology  sprung  to  his  lips ; 
but  observing  that  his  order  had  wrought  no  sort  of  surprise  in  the 
earl  or  the  waiting  page,  he  suppressed  the  words  he  was  about  to 
utter.  The  page,  in  the  most  matter-of-course  way,  made  a  profound 
obeisance  and  retired  backwards  out  of  the  room  to  deliver  the  com- 
mand. Tom  experienced  a  glow  of  pride  and  a  renewed  sense  of  the 
compensating  advantages  of  the  kingly  office.  He  said  to  himself, 
"  Truly  it  is  like  what  I  was  used  to  feel  when  I  read  the  old  priest's 
tales,  and  did  imagine  mine  own  self  a  prince,  giving  law  and  com- 
mand to  all,  saying  '  Do  this,  do  that,'  whilst  none  durst  offer  let  or 
hindrance  to  my  will." 

Now  the  doors  swung  open ;  one  high-sounding  title  after  another 
was  announced,  the  personages  owning  them  followed,  and  the  place 
was  quickly  half  filled  with  noble  folk  and  finery.  But  Tom  was 
hardly  conscious  of  the  presence  of  these  people,  so  wrought  up  was 
he  and  so  intensely  absorbed  in  that  other  and  more  interesting  matter. 
He  seated  himself,  absently,  in  his  chair  of  state,  and  turned  his  eyes 
upon  the  door  with  manifestations  of  impatient  expectancy ;  seeing 
which,  the  company  forebore  to  trouble  him,  and  fell  to  chatting  a 
mixture  of  public  business  and  court  gossip  one  with  another. 

In  a  little  while  the  measured  tread  of  military  men  was  heard 
approaching,  and  the  culprits  entered  the  presence  in  charge  of  an 
under-sheriff  and  escorted  by  a  detail  of  the  king's  guard.  The  civil 
officer  knelt  before  Tom,  then  stood  aside  ;  the  three  doomed  persons 
knelt,  also,  and  remained  so ;  the  guard  took  position  behind  Tom's 
chair.     Tom  scanned  the  prisoners  curiously.     Something  about  the 


TOM  AS  KING. 


183 


dress  or  appearance  of  the  man  had  stirred  a  vague  memory  in 
"  Methinks  I  have  seen  this  man  ere  now  .  .  .  but  the  when  or 
where   fail   me "  —  such    was    Tom's   thought.      Just   then   the 
glanced  quickly  up,  and  quickly  dropped  his 
face  again,  not  being   able  to  endure  the 
awful  port  of  sovereignty ;  but  the  one 
full  glimpse  of  the  face,  which  Tom 
got,  was  sufficient.     He  said  to  him- 
self :  "  Now  is  the  matter  clear ;  this 
is  the  stranger  that  plucked  Gilcb 
Witt    out    of    the    Thames,    and 
saved    his   life,    that    windy, 
bitter,  first  day  of  the  New 
Year  —  a  brave  good  deed  — 
pity  he  hath  been  doing  baser 


him. 

the 

man 


"TOM   SCANNED  THE   PRISONERS." 


ones  and  got  himself  in  this  sad 
case.  ...  I  have  not  forgot  the  day,  neither  the  hour ;  by  reason  that 
an  hour  after,  upon  the  stroke  of  eleven,  I  did  get  a  hiding  by  the 
hand  of  Gammer  Canty  which  was  of  so  goodly  and  admired  severity 
that  all  that  went  before  or  followed  after  it  were  but  fondlings  and 
caresses  by  comparison." 


184  TOM   AS   KING. 

Tom  now  ordered  that  the  woman  and  the  girl  be  removed  from 
tlie  presence  for  a  little  time  ;  then  addressed  himself  to  the  under- 
sheriff,  saj'ing  — 

"  Good  sir,  what  is  this  man's  offence  ?  " 

The  officer  knelt,  and  answered  — 

"So  please  your  majesty,  he  hath  taken  the  life  of  a  subject  by 
poison." 

Tom's  compassion  for  the  prisoner,  and  admiration  of  him  as  the 
daring  rescuer  of  a  drowning  boy,  experienced  a  most  damaging  shock. 

"  The  thing  was  proven  upon  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Most  clearly,  sire." 

Tom  sighed,  and  said  — 

"  Take  him  away  —  he  hath  earned  his  death.  'Tis  a  pity,  for  he 
was  a  brave  heart  —  na  —  na,  I  mean  he  hath  the  look  of  it !  ' 

The  prisoner  clasped  his  hands  together  with  sudden  energy,  and 
wrung  them  despairingly,  at  the  same  time  appealing  imploringly  to 
the  "king"  in  broken  and  terrified  phrases  — 

"  O  my  lord  the  king,  an'  thou  canst  pity  the  lost,  have  pity  upon 
me  !  I  am  innocent  —  neither  hath  that  wherewith  I  am  charged 
been  more  than  but  lamely  proved  —  yet  I  speak  not  of  that;  the 
judgment  is  gone  forth  against  me  and  may  not  suffer  alteration ;  yet 
iij  mine  extremity  I  beg  a  boon,  for  my  doom  is  more  than  I  can  bear. 
A  grace,  a  grace,  my  lord  the  king !  in  thy  royal  compassion  grant  my 
prayer  —  give  commandment  that  I  be  hanged  !  " 

Tom  was  amazed.     This  was  not  the  outcome  he  had  looked  for. 

"  Odds  my  life,  a  strange  boon !  Was  it  not  the  fate  intended 
thee/' 

"O  good  my  liege,  not  so !     It  is  ordered  that  I  be  boiled  alive!''' 

The  hideous  surprise  of  these  words  almost  made  Tom  spring  from 
his  chair.     As  soon  as  he  could  recover  his  wits  he  cried  out  — 

"  Have  thy  wish,  poor  soul !  an'  thou  had  poisoned  a  hundred  men 
thou  shouldst  not  suffer  so  miserable  a  deatli." 


TOM  AS  KING.  185 

The  prisoner  bowed  his  face  to  the  ground  and  burst  into  passion- 
ate expressions  of  gratitude  —  ending  with  — 

"  If  ever  thou  shouldst  know  misfortune  —  which  God  forefend  !  — 
may  thy  goodness  to  me  this  day  be  remembered  and  requited !  " 

Tom  turned  to  the  earl  of  Hertford,  and  said  — 

'•  My  lord,  is  it  believable  that  there  was  warrant  for  this  man's 
ferocious  doom  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  law,  your  grace  —  for  poisoners.  In  Germany  coiners 
be  boiled  to  death  in  oil  —  not  cast  in  of  a  sudden,  but  by  a  rope  let 
down  into  the  oil  by  degrees,  and  slowly  ;  first  the  feet,  then  the  legs, 
then  "  — 

"  O  prithee  no  more,  my  lord,  I  cannot  bear  it !  "  cried  Tom,  cover- 
ing his  eyes  with  his  hands  to  shut  out  the  picture.  "  I  beseech  your 
good  lordship  that  order  be  taken  to  change  this  law  —  O,  let  no  more 
poor  creatures  be  visited  with  its  tortures." 

The  earl's  face  showed  profound  gratification,  for  he  was  a  man  of 
merciful  and  generous  impulses  —  a  thing  not  very  common  with  his 
class  in  that  fierce  age.     He  said  — 

"  These  your  grace's  noble  words  have  sealed  its  doom.  History 
will  remember  it  to  the  honor  of  your  royal  house." 

The  under-sheriff  was  about  to  remove  his  prisoner ;  Tom  gave  him 
a  sign  to  wait ;  then  he  said  — 

"  Good  sir,  I  would  look  into  this  matter  further.  The  man  has 
said  his  deed  was  but  lamely  proved.     Tell  me  what  thou  knowest." 

"  If  the  king's  grace  please,  it  did  appear  upon  the  trial,  that  this 
man  entered  into  a  house  in  the  hamlet  of  Islington  where  one  lay 
^^ick  —  three  witnesses  say  it  was  at  ten  of  the  clock  in  the  morning 
and  two  say  it  was  some  minutes  later  —  the  sick  man  being  alone  at 
the  time,  and  sleeping  —  and  presently  the  man  came  forth  again,  and 
went  his  way.  The  sick  man  died  within  the  hour,  being  torn  with 
spasms  and  retchings." 


186  TOM  AS  KING. 

"  Did  any  see  the  poison  given  ?     Was  poison  found  ?  " 

"Marry,  no,  my  liege." 

"  Then  how  doth  one  know  there  was  poison  given  at  all  ?  " 

"  Please  your  majesty,  the  doctors  testified  that  none  die  with  such 
symptoms  but  by  poison." 

Weighty  evidence,  this  —  in  that  simple  age.  Tom  recognized  its 
formidable  nature,  and  said  — 

"The  doctor  knoweth  his  trade  —  belike  they  were  right.  The 
matter  hath  an  ill  look  for  this  poor  man." 

"  Yet  was  not  this  all,  your  majesty ;  there  is  more  and  worse. 
Many  testified  that  a  witch,  since  gone  from  the  village,  none  know 
whither,  did  foretell,  and  speak  it  privately  in  their  ears,  that  the  sick 
msm  would  die  by  poison  —  and  more,  that  a  stranger  would  give  it  — 
a  stranger  with  brown  hair  and  clothed  in  a  worn  and  common  garb  ; 
and  surely  this  prisoner  doth  answer  woundily  to  the  bill.  Please 
your  majesty  to  give  the  circumstance  that  solemn  weight  which  is  its 
due,  seeing  it  was  foretold.''' 

This  was  an  argument  of  tremendous  force,  in  that  superstitious 
day.  Tom  felt  that  the  thing  was  settled ;  if  evidence  was  worth  any 
thing,  this  poor  fellow's  guilt  was  proved.  Still  he  offered  the  prisoner 
a  chance,  saying  — 

"  If  thou  canst  say  aught  in  thy  behalf,  speak." 

"Nought  that  will  avail,  my  khig.  I  am  innocent,  yet  cannot  I 
make  it  appear.  I  have  no  friends,  else  might  I  show  that  I  was  not 
in  Islington  that  day ;  so  also  might  I  show  that  at  that  hour  they 
name  I  was  above  a  league  away,  seeing  I  was  at  Wapping  Old  Stairs ; 
yea  more,  my  King,  for  I  could  show,  that  whilst  they  say  I  was  taking 
life,  I  was  saving  it.     A  drowning  boy  "  — 

"  Peace !     Sheriff,  name  the  day  the  deed  was  done  !  " 

"  At  ten  in  the  morning,  or  some  minutes  later,  the  first  day  of  the 
new  year,  most  illustrious  "  — 


TOM  AS   KING. 


187 


"  Let  the  prisoner  go  free  —  it  is  the  king's  will  I 

Another  blush  followed  this  unregal  outburst, 
and  he  covered  his  indecorum  as  well  as  he  could 
by  adding  — 

"  It  enrageth  me  that  a  man  should  be  hanged 
upon  such  idle,  hare-brained  evidence ! " 

A  low  buzz  of  admu-ation  swept  through  the 
assemblage.  It  was  not  admiration  of  the  decree 
that  had  been  delivered  by  Tom,  for  the  piopriety 
or  expediency  of  pardoning    a  convicted   poisoner 


let  the  prisonek  go 

free!" 


was  a  thing  which  few  there  would  have  felt  justi- 
fied in  either  admitting  or  admiring  —  no,  the  ad- 
miration was  for  the  intelligence  and  spirit  which 


188 


TOM  AS  KING. 


Tom  had  displayed.     Some  of  the    low-voiced  remarks  were    to  this 
effect  — 

"This  is  110  mad  king  —  he  hath  his  wits  sound." 
"How  sanely  he  put  his  questions  —  how  like  his  former  natural 
self  was  this  abrupt,  imperious  disposal  of  the  matter  !  " 

"  God  be  thanked  his  infirmity  is  spent !  This  is  no  weakling,  but 
a  king.     He  hath  borne  himself  like  to  his  own  father." 

The  air  being  filled  with  applause,  Tom's  ear  necessarily  caught  a 
little  of  it.  The  effect  which  this  had  upon  him  was  to  put  him 
greatly  at  his  ease,  and  also  to  charge  his  system  with  very  gratifying 
sensations. 

However,  his  juvenile  curiosity  soon  rose  superior  to  these  pleasant 
thoughts  and  feelings ;  he  was  eager  to  know  what  sort  of  deadly  mis- 
chief the  woman  and  the  little  girl  could  have  been  about;  so,  by  his 
command  the  two  terrified  and  sobbing  creatures  were  brought  before 
him. 

"  What  is  it  that  these  have  done  ?  "  he  inquired  of  the  sheriff. 

"Please  your  majesty,  a  black 
crime  is  charged  upon  them,  and 
clearly  proven  ;  wherefore  the 
judges  have  decreed,  according  to 
the  law,  that  they  be  hanged.  They 
sold  themselves  to  the  devil  —  such 
is  their  crime." 

Tom  shuddered.     He  had  been 

taught   to    abhor  people  mOio    did 

this  wicked   thing.     Still,   he  was 

not    going    to    deny    himself    the 

pleasure  of  feeding  his  curiosity,  for  all  that;  so  he  asked  — 

"  Where  was  this  done  ?  —  and  when  ?  " 

"On  a  midnight,  in  December  —  in  a  ruined  church,  your  majesty." 
Tom  shuddered  asfain. 


WHAT   IS  IT  THAT  THESE  HAVE  DONE?" 


TOM  AS   KING.  189 

"  Who  was  there  present  ?  " 

"  Only  these  two,  your  grace  —  and  that  othe?-.^^ 

"  Have  these  confessed  ?  " 

"  Nay,  not  so,  sire  —  they  do  deny  it." 

"  Then  prithee,  how  was  it  known  ?  " 

"  Certain  witnesses  did  see  them  wending  tliither,  good  your 
majesty ;  this  bred  the  suspicion,  and  dire  effects  have  since  confirmed 
and  justified  it.  In  particuhir,  it  is  in  evidence  that  through  the 
wicked  power  so  obtained,  they  did  invoke  and  bring  about  a  storm 
that  wasted  all  the  region  round  about.  Above  forty  witnesses  have 
proved  the  storm  ;  and  sooth  one  might  have  had  a  thousand,  for  all 
had  reason  to  remember  it,  sith  all  had  suffered  by  it." 

"  Certes  this  is  a  serious  matter."  Tom  turned  this  dark  piece  of 
scoundrelism  over  in  his  mind  a  while,  then  asked  — 

"  Suffered  the  woman,  also,  by  the  storm  ?  " 

Several  old  heads  among  the  assemblage  nodded  their  recognition 
of  the  wisdom  of  this  question.  The  sheriff,  however,  saw  nothing 
consequential  in  the  inquiry;  he  answered,  with  simple  directness  — 

"  Indeed,  did  she,  your  majesty,  and  most  righteously,  as  all  aver. 
Her  habitation  was  swept  away,  and  herself  and  child  left  shelterless." 

"  Methinks  the  power  to  do  herself  so  ill  a  turn  was  dearly  bought. 
She  had  been  cheated,  had  she  paid  but  a  farthing  for  it;  that  she 
paid  her  soul,  and  her  child's,  arguetl>  that  she  is  mad ;  if  she  is  mad 
she  knoweth  not  what  she  doth,  therefore  sinneth  not." 

The  elderly  heads  nodded  recognition  of  Tom's  wisdom  once  more, 
and  one  individual  murmured,  "  An'  the  king  be  mad  himself,  accord- 
ing to  report,  then  is  it  a  madness  of  a  sort  that  would  improve  the 
sanity  of  some  I  wot  of^  if  by  the  gentle  providence  of  God  they  could 
but  catch  it." 

"  Wliat  age  hath  the  child  ?  "  asked  Tom. 

"  Nine  years,  please  your  majesty." 


190 


TOM  AS   KING 


"  By  the  law  of  England  may  a  child  enter  into  covenant  and  sell 
itself,  my  lord?"  asked  Tom,  turning  to  a  learned  judge. 

"  The  law  doth  not  permit  a  child  to  make  or  meddle  in  any 
weighty  matter,  good  my  liege,  holding  that  its  callow  wit  unfitteth  it 
to  cope  with  the  riper  wit  and  evil  schemings  of  them  that  are  its 
elders.  The  devil  may  buy  a  child,  if  he  so  choose,  and  the  child  agree 
thereto,  but  not  an  Englishman  —  in  this  latter  case  the  contract  would 
be  null  and  void." 

"It   seemeth    a   rude    unchristian    thing,    and    ill    contrived,    that 


"several  old  heads  nodded  their  recognition." 


English  law  denieth  privileges  to  Englishmen,  to  waste  them  on  the 
devil !  "  cried  Tom,  with  honest  heat. 

This  novel  view  of  the  matter  excited  many  smiles,  and  was  stored 
away  in  many  heads  to  be  repeated  about  the  court  as  evidence  of 
Tom's  originality  as  well  as  progress  toward  mental  health. 

The  elder  culprit  had  ceased  from  sobbing,  and  was  1  mging  upon 
Tom's  words  with  an  excited  interest  and  a  growing  hope.  Tom 
noticed  this,  and  it  strongly  inclined  his  sympathies  toward  her  in  her 
perilous  and  unfriended  situation.     Presently  he  asked  — 


TOM  AS  KING.  191 

"  How  wrought  they,  to  bring  the  storm  ?  " 

'"'' By  pulling  off  their  stockings,  sire." 

This  astonished  Tom,  and  also  fired  his  curiosity  to  fever  heat.  He 
said,  eagerly  — 

"  It  is  wonderful !     Hath  it  always  this  dread  effect  ? 

"  Always,  my  liege  —  at  least  if  the  woman  desire  it,  and  utter  the 
needful  words,  either  in  her  mind  or  with  her  tongue." 

Tom  turned  to  the  woman,  and  said  with  impetuous  zeal  — 

"  Exert  thy  power  —  I  would  see  a  storm  !  " 

There  was  a  sudden  paling  of  cheeks  in  the  superstitious  assem- 
blage, and  a  general,  though  unexpressed,  desire  to  get  out  of  the  place 
—  all  of  which  was  lost  upon  Tom,  who  was  dead  to  every  thing  but 
the  proposed  cataclysm.  Seeing  a  puzzled  and  astonished  look  in  the 
woman's  face,  he  added,  excitedly  — 

"  Never  fear  —  thou  shalt  be  blameless.  More  —  thou  shalt  go.  free 
- — none  shall  touch  thee.     Exert  thy  power." 

"  O,  my  lord  the  king,  I  have  it  not  —  I  have  been  falsely  accused." 

"  Thy  fears  stay  thee.  Be  of  good  heart,  thou  shalt  suffer  no  harm. 
Make  a  storm  —  it  mattereth  not  how  small  a  one  —  I  require  nought 
great  or  harmful,  but  indeed  prefer  the  opposite  —  do  this  and  thy  life 
is  spared  —  thou  shalt  go  out  free,  with  thy  child,  bearing  the  king's 
pardon,  and  safe  from  hurt  or  malice  from  any  in  the  realm." 

The  woman  prostrated  herself,  and  protested,  with  tears,  that  she 
had  no  power  to  do  the  miracle,  else  she  would  gladly  win  her  child's 
life,  alone,  and  be  content  to  lose  her  own,  if  by  obedience  to  the  king's 
command  so  precious  a  grace  might  be  acquired. 

Tom  urged  —  the  woman  still  adhered  to  her  declarations.  Finally 
he  said  — 

"  I  think  the  woman  hath  said  true.  An'  my  mother  were  in  her 
place  and  gifted  with  the  devil's  functions,  she  had  not  stayed  a 
moment  to  call  her  storms    and  lay  the  whole  land  in  ruins,  if  the 


192  rOM  AS   KING. 

saving  of  my  forfeit  life  were  the  price  she  got !  It  is  argument  tliat 
other  mothers  are  made  in  like  mould.  Thou  art  free,  goodwife  — 
thou  and  thy  child  —  for  I  do  think  thee  innocent.  JVow  thou'st 
nought  to  fear,  being  pardoned  —  pull  off  thy  stockings !  —  an'  thou 
canst  make  me  a  storm,  thou  shalt  be  rich  ! " 

The  redeemed  creature  was  loud  in  her  gratitude,  and  proceeded  to 
obey,  whilst  Tom  looked  on  with  eager  expectancy,  a  little  marred  by 
apprehension ;  the  courtiers  at  the  same  time  manifesting  decided  dis- 
comfort and  uneasiness.  The  woman  stripped  her  own  feet  and  her 
little  girl's  also,  and  plainly  did  her  best  to  reward  the  king's  gener- 
osity with  an  earthquake,  but  it  was  all  a  failure  and  a  disappointment. 
Tom  sighed,  and  said  — 

"  There,  good  soul,  trouble  thyself  no  further,  thy  power  is  de- 
parted out  of  thee.  Go  thy  way  in  peace ;  and  if  it  return  to  thee  at 
any  time,  forget  me  not,  but  fetch  me  a  storm."  ^ 

1  See  Notes  to  Chapter  xv  at  the  end  of  the  volume. 


Mm  .3^^^ 


CHAPTER    XVI 


THE    STATE    DINNER. 


•  The  dinner  hour  drew  near  —  yet  strangely  enough,  the  thought 
brought  but  slight  discomfort  to  Tom,  and  hardly  any  terror.  The 
morning's  experiences  had  wonderfully  built  up  his  confidence ;  the 
poor  little  ash-cat  was  alread}^  more  wonted  to  his  strange  garret,  after 
four  days'  habit,  than  a  mature  person  could  have  become  in  a  full 
month.  A  child's  facility  in  accommodating  itself  to  circumstances 
was  never  more  strikingly  illustrated. 

Let  us  privileged  ones  hurry  to  the  great  banqueting  room  and 
have  a  glance  at  matters  there  whilst  Tom  is  being  made  ready  for 
the  imposing  occasion.  It  is  a  spacious  apartment,  with  gilded  pillars 
and  pilasters,  and  pictured  walls  and  ceilings.  At  the  door  stand  tall 
guards,  as  rigid  as  statues,  dressed  in  rich  and  picturesque  costumes, 
and  bearing  halberds.  In  a  high  gallery  which  runs  all  around  the 
place  is  a  band  of  musicians  and  a  packed  company  of  citizens  of  both 
sexes,  in  brilliant  attire.  In  the  centre  of  the  room,  upon  a  raised 
platform,  is  Tom's  table.     Now  let  the  ancient  chronicler  speak: 

"  A  gentleman  enters  the  room  bearing  a  rod,  and  along  with  him 
another  bearing  a  table-cloth,  which,  after  they  have  both  kneeled 
three  times  with  the  utmost  veneration,  he  spreads  upon  the  table, 
and  after  kneeling  again  they  both  retire ;  then  come  two  others,  one 
with  the  rod  again,  the  other  with  a  salt-cellar,  a  plate,  and  bread; 
when  they  have  kneeled  as  the  others  had  done,  and  placed  what  was 

l!t5 


196 


THE   STATE  DINNER. 


brought  upon  the  table,  they  too  retire  with  the  same  ceremonies  per- 
formed by  the  first ;  at  last  come  two  nobles,  richly  clothed,  one  bear- 
ing a  tasting-knife,  who,  after  prostrating  themselves  three  times  in 
the  most  graceful  manner,  approach  and  rub  the  table  with  bread  and 
salt,  with  as  much  awe  as  if  the  king  had  been  present."  ^ 

So  end  the  solemn  preliminaries.  Now,  far  down  the  echoing  cor- 
ridors we  hear  a 
bugle-blast,  and  the 
indistinct  cry,  "  Place 
for  the  king  !  way  for 
the  king's  most  ex- 
cellent majesty!" 
These  sounds  are  mo- 
mently repeated  — 
they  grow  nearer  and 
nearer  —  and  present- 
ly, almost  in  our  faces, 
the  martial  note  peals 
and  the  cry  rings  out, 
"  Way  for  the  king  !  " 
At  this  instant  the 
shining  pageant  ap- 
pears, and  files  in  at 
the  door,  with  a 
measured  march.  Let 
the  chronicler  speak 
again : 
"  First  come  Gentlemen,  Barons,  Earls,  Knights  of  the  Garter,  all 
richly  dressed  and  bareheaded ;  next  comes  the  Chancellor,  between 
two,  one  of  which  carries  the  royal  sceptre,  the  other  the  Sword  of 


A    OENTLKMAN   BEARING   A  ROD." 


1  Leigh  Hunt's  "The  Town,"  p.  408,  quotation  from  an  early  tourist. 


THE   STATE  DINNER. 


197 


State  in  a  red  scabbard,  studded  Avith  golden   fleurs-de-lis,  the  point 
upwards ;    next    comes    the    King    himself  —  whom, 
upon  his  appearing,  twelve  trumpets  and  many  drums 
salute  with  a  great  burst  of  welcome,  whilst  all  / 

in  the  galleries  rise  in  their  places,  crying 
"  God  save  the  King!  "  After  him  come  nobles 
attached  to  his  person,  and  on  his  right  and 
left  march  his  guard  of  honor,  his  fifty  Gen- 
tlemen Pensioners,  with  gilt  battle-axes." 

This  was  all  fine  and  pleasant.     Tom's  pulse 
beat  high  and  a  glad  light 
was  in  his    eye.      He    bore 
himself     right     gracefully, 
and  all   the  more  so 
because    he   was   not 
thinking  of    how  he 
was     doing     it,     his 


•THE   CHANCELLOR 
BETWEEN  TWO." 


mind  being  charmed  /W^I^}^I^&S^M^M  1  /P^  '^^^^  occupied  with 
the  blithe  sights  and  '  T  f /^  pi  -^^'^'^  I /:/r^  ^  sounds  about  him 
—  and     besides,     no-  '      ^/  body  can  be  very 

ungraceful  in  nicely-fitting  beautiful  clothes  after  he  has  grown  a  little 
used  to  them  —  especially  if  he  is  for  the  moment  unconscious  of  them. 


198 


THE   STATE  DINNER. 


Tom  remembered  his  instructions,  and  acknowledged  his  greeting 
with  a  sliglit  inclination  of  his  plumed  head,  and  a  courteous  "  I  thank 
ye,  my  good  people." 

He  seated  himself  at  table,  without  removing  his  cap  ;  and  did  it 
without  the  least  embarrassment;  for  to  eat  with  one's  cap  on  was  the 
one  solitary  royal  custom  upon  which  the  kings  and  the  Cantys  met 
upon  common  ground,  neither  party  having  any  advantage   over  the 

other  in   the   matter  of  old  fa- 


miliarity  with  it.  The  pageant 
broke  up  and  grouped  itself 
picturesquely,  and  remained 
bareheaded. 

Now,  to  the  sound  of  gay 
music,  the  Yeomen  of  the  Guard 
entered,  —  "  the  tallest  and 
mightiest  men  in  England,  they 
being  carefully  selected  in  this 
regard" — -but  we  will  let  the 
chronicler  tell  about  it : 

"  The  Yeoman  of  the  Guard 
entered,  bare-headed,  clothed  in 
scarlet,  with  golden  roses  upon 
their  backs  ;  and  these  went  and  came,  bringing  in  each  turn  a  course 
of  dishes,  served  in  plate.  These  dishes  were  received  by  a  gentleman 
in  the  same  order  they  were  brought,  and  placed  upon  the  table,  while 
the  taster  .gave  to  each  guard  a  mouthful  to  eat  of  the  particular 
dish  he  had  brought,  for  fear  of  any  poison." 

Tom  made  a  good  dinner,  notwithstanding  he  was  conscious  that 
hundreds  of  eyes  followed  each  morsel  to  liis  mouth  and  watched  him 
eat  it  witli  an  interest  which  could  not  have  been  more  intense  if  it 
had  been  a  deadly  explosive  and  was  expected  to  blow  him  up  and 


I   THANK    YE,    MV   GOOD    PEOPI-E.' 


TBE  STATE  DINNER.  199 

scatter  him  all  about  the  place.  He  was  careful  not  to  hurry,  and 
equally  careful  not  to  do  any  thing  whatever  for  himself,  but  wait  till 
the  proper  official  knelt  down  and  did  it  for  him.  He  got  through 
without  a  mistake  —  flawless  and  precious  triumph. 


"he  marchkd  away  in  the  midst  of  his  pageant." 

When  the  meal  was  over  at  last  and  he  marched  away  in  the  midst 
of  his  bright  pageant,  with  the  happy  noises  in  his  ears  of  blaring 
bugles,  rolling  drums  and  thundering  acclamations,  he  felt  that  if  he 
had  seen  the  worst  of  dining  in  public,  it  was  an  ordeal  which  he 
would  be  glad  to  endure  several  times  a  day  if  by  that  means  he  could 
but  buy  himself  free  from  some  of  the  more  formidable  requirements 
of  his  royal  office. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


FOO-FOO    THE    FIRST. 


Miles  Hendon  hurried,  along  toward  the  South wark  end  of  the 
bridge,  keeping  a  sharp  lookout  for  the  persons  he  sought,  and  hoping 
and  expecting  to  overtake  them  presently.  He  was  disappointed  in 
this,  however.  By  asking  questions,  he  was  enabled  to  track  them 
part  of  the  way  through  Southwark ;  then  all  traces  ceased,  and  he 
was  perplexed  as  to  how  to  proceed.  Still,  he  continued  his  efforts  as 
best  he  could  during  the  rest  of  the  day.  Nightfall  found  him  leg- 
weary,  half  famished,  and  his  desire  as  far  from  accomplishment  as 
ever ;  so  he  supped  at  the  Tabard  inn  and  went  to  bed,  resolved  to 
make  an  early  start  in  the  morning,  and  give  the  town  an  exhaustive 
search.  As  he  lay  thinking  and  planning,  he  presently  began  to  reason 
thus:  The  boy  would  escape  from  the  ruffian,  his  reputed  father,  if 
possible;  would  he  go  back  to  London  and  seek  his  former  haunts? 
no,  he  would  not  do  that,  he  would  avoid  recapture.  What,  then, 
would  he  do  ?  Never  having  had  a  friend  in  the  world,  or  a  protector, 
until  he  met  Miles  Hendon,  he  would  naturally  try  to  find  that  friend 
again,  provided  the  effort  did  not  require  him  to  go  toward  London 
and  danger.  He  would  strike  for  Hendon  Hall,  that  is  what  he  would 
do,  for  he  knew  Hendon  was  homeward  bound  and  there  he  might 
expect  to  find  him.  Yes,  the  case  was  plain  to  Hendon — he  must  lose 
no  more  time  in  Southwark,  but  move  at  once  through  Kent,  toward 

203 


204  FOO-FOO    THE  FIRST. 

Monk's  Holm,  searching  the  wood  and  inquiring  as  he  went.     Let  us 
return  to  the  vanished  little  king,  now. 

The  ruffian  whom  the  waiter  at  the  inn  on  the  bridge  saw  "about 
to  join  "  the  youth  and  the  king,  did  not  exactly  join  them,  but  fell  in 
close  behind  them  and  followed  their  steps.  He  said  nothing.  His 
left  arm  was  in  a  sling,  and  he  wore  a  large  green  patch  over  his  left 
eye ;  he  limped  slightly,  and  used  an  oaken  staff  as  a  support.  The 
youth  led  the  king  a  crooked  course  through  Southwark,  and  by  and 
by  struck  into  the  high  road  beyond.  The  king  was  irritated,  now, 
and  said  he  would  stop  here  — it  was  Hendon's  place  to  come  to  him, 
not  his  to  go  to  Hendon.  He  would  not  endure  such  insolence ;  he 
would  stop  where  he  was.     The  youth  said  — 

"  Thou'lt  tarry  here,  and  thy  friend  lying  wounded  in  the  wood 
yonder?     So  be  it,  then." 

The  king's  manner  changed  at  once.     He  cried  out  — 

"Wounded?  And  who  hath  dared  to  do  it?  But  that  is  apart ; 
lead  on,  lead  on  !  Faster,  sirrah !  art  shod  with  lead  ?  Wounded, 
is  he  ?  Now  though  the  doer  of  it  be  a  duke's  son,  he  shall  rue 
it!" 

It  was  some  distance  to  the  wood,  but  the  space  was  speedily  trav- 
ersed. The  youth  looked  about  him,  discovered  a  bough  sticking  in 
the  ground,  with  a  small  bit  of  rag  tied  to  it,  then  led  the  way  into 
the  forest,  watching  for  similar  boughs  and  finding  them  at  intervals  ; 
they  were  evidently  guides  to  the  point  he  was  aiming  at.  By  and  by 
an  open  place  was  reached,  where  were  the  charred  remains  of  a  farm 
house,  and  near  them  a  barn  which  was  falling  to  ruin  and  decay. 
There  was  no  sign  of  life  anywhere,  and  utter  silence  prevailed.  The 
youth  entered  the  barn,  the  king  following  eagerly  upon  his  heels. 
No  one  there  !  The  king  shot  a  surprised  and  suspicious  glance  at  the 
youth,  and  asked  — 

"  Where  is  he  ?  " 


FOO-FOO    THE  FIRST. 


205 


A  mocking  laugh  was  liis  answer.  The  king  was  in  a  rage  in  a 
moment ;  he  seized  a  billet  of  wood  and  was  in  the  act  of  charging 
upon  the  youth  when  another  mocking  laugh  fell  upon  his  ear.  It  was 
from  the  lame  ruffian,  who  had  been  following  at  a  distance.  The 
king  turned  and  said  angrily  — 

"  Who  art  thou  ?  What  is 
thy  business  here  ?  " 

"Leave  thy  foolery,'"  said 
the  man,  "and  quiet  thyself. 
My  disguise  is  none  so  good 
that  thou  canst  pretend  thou 
knowest  not  thy  father  through 
it.'" 

"  Thou  art  not  my  father. 
I  know  thee  not.  I  am  the 
king.  If  thou  hast  hid  my 
servant,  find  him  for  me,  or 
thou  shalt  sup  sorrow  for  what 
thou  hast  done." 

John  Canty  replied,  in  a  stern  and  meas- 
ured voice  — 

"It  is  plain  thou  art  mad,  and  I  am 
loath  to  punish  thee  ;  but  if  thou  provoke 
me,  I  must.  Thy  prating  doth  no  harm 
here,  where  there  are  no  ears  that  need  to 
mind  thy  follies,  yet  is  it  well  to  practise 
thy  tongue  to  wary  speech,  that  it  may  do 
no  hurt  when  our  quarters  change.  I  have  done  a  murder,  and  may 
not  tarry  at  home  —  neither  shalt  thou,  seeing  I  need  thy  service. 
My  name  is  changed,  for  wise  reasons;  it  is  Hobbs  —  John  Hobbs; 
thine  is  Jack  —  charge  thy  memory  accordingly.     Now,  then,  speak. 


THE   EUFFIAN   FOLLOWED 
THEIR  STEPS." 


206 


FOO-FOO    THE  FIRST. 


Where  is  thy  mother  ?  where  are  thy  sisters  ?  They  came  not  to  the 
place  appointed  —  kuowest  thou  whither  they  went?" 

The  king  answered,  sullenly  — 

"  Trouble  me  not  with  these  riddles.  My  mother  is  dead ;  my 
sisters  are  in  the  palace." 


"  HE    SEIZED    A    151LI-ET    OF    WOOD." 


The  youth  near  by  burst  into  a  derisive  laugh,  and  the  king  would 
have  assaulted  him,  but  Canty  —  or  Hobbs,  as  he  now  called  himself — 
prevented  him,  and  said  — 

"  Peace,  Hugo,  vex  him  not ;  his  mind  is  astray,  and  thy  ways  fret 


FOO-FOO    THE  FIRST. 


20T 


him.     Sit  thee  down,  Jack,  and  quiet  thyself;  thou  shalt  have  a  moreel 
to  eat,  anon." 

Hobbs  and  Hugo  fell  to  talking  together,  in  low  voices,  and  the 
king  removed  himself  as  far  as  he  could  from  their  disagreeable  com- 
pany. He  withdrew  into  the  twilight  of  the  farther  end  of  the  barn, 
where  he  found  the  earthen  floor  bedded  a  foot  deep  with  straw.  He 
lay  down  here,  drew  straw  over  himself  in  lieu  of  blankets,  and  was 


"he  was  soon  absorbed  in  thinking." 

soon  absorbed  in  thinkinge.  He  had  many  griefs,  but  the  minor  ones 
were  swept  almost  into  forgetfulness  by  the  supreme  one,  the  loss  of 
his  father.  To  the  rest  of  the  world  the  name  of  Henry  VHI.  brought 
a  shiver,  and  suggested  an  ogre  whose  nostrils  breathed  destruction 
and  whose  hand  dealt  scourgings  and  death ;  but  to  this  boy  the  name 
brought  only  sensations  of  pleasure,  the  figure  it  invoked  wore  a  coun- 
tenance that  was  all  gentleness  and  affection.  He  called  to  mind  a 
long  succession  of  loving  passages  between  his  father  and  himself,  and 
dwelt  fondly  upon  them,  his  unstinted  tears  attesting  how  deep  and 
real  was  the  grief  that  possessed  his  heart.     As  the  afternoon  wasted 


V 


208 


FOO-FOO   THE  FIRST. 


away,  the  lad,  wearied  with  his  troubles,  sunk  gradually  into  a  tranquil 
and  healing  slumber. 

After  a  considerable  time  —  he  could  not  tell  how  lonsf  —  his  senses 


struggled  to  a  half-consciousness, 
and  as  he  lay  with  closed  eyes 
vaguely  wondering  where  he  was 
and  what  had  been  happening,  he 
noted  a  murmur- 
ous sound,  the  sul- 
len beating  of  rain 
upon  the  roof.  A 
snug  sense  of  com- 
fort stole  over  him,  which  was  rudely  broken,  the  next  moment, 
by  a  chorus  of  piping  cackles  and  coarse  laughter.  It  startled  him 
disagreeably,  and  he  unmuffled  his  head  to  see  whence  this  inter- 
ruption  proceeded.     A   grim   and  unsightly  picture  met   his  eye.     A 


A    GKIM    AND    UN.SIGIITJLV    PICTUKE. 


FOO-FOO    THE  FIRST.  209 

bright  fire  was  burning  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  at  the  other 
end  of  the  barn ;  and  around  it,  and  lit  weirdly  up  by  the  red  glare, 
lolled  and  sprawled  the  motliest  compan}^  of  tattered  gutter-scum  and 
ruffians,  of  both  sexes,  he  had  ever  read  or  dreamed  of.  There  were 
huge,  stalwart  men,  brown  with  exposure,  long-haired,  and  clothed  in 
fantastic  rags ;  there  were  middle-sized  youths,  of  truculent  counte- 
nance, and  similarly  clad ;  there  were  blind  mendicants,  with  patched 
or  bandaged  eyes ;  crippled  ones,  with  wooden  legs  and  crutches ; 
there  was  a  villain-looking  peddler  with  his  pack ;  a  knife-grinder,  a 
tinker,  and  a  barber-surgeon,  with  the  implements  of  their  trades ; 
some  of  the  females  were  hardly-grown  girls,  some  were  at  prime,  some 
were  old  and  wrinkled  hags,  and  all  were  loud,  brazen,  foul-mouthed ; 
and  all  soiled  and  slatternly ;  there  were  three  sore-faced  babies ;  there 
were  a  couple  of  starveling  curs,  with  strings  about  their  necks,  whose 
office  was  to  lead  the  blind. 

The  night  was  come,  the  gang  had  just  finished  feasting,  an  orgy 
was  beginning ,  the  can  of  liquor  was  passing  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
A  general  cry  broke  forth  — 

"A  song !  a  song  from  the  Bat  and  Dick  Dot-and-go-One  ! " 
One  of  the  blind  men  got  up,  and  made  ready  by  casting  aside 
the  "patches  that  sheltered  his  excellent  eyes,  and  the  pathetic  placard 
which  recited  the  cause  of  his  calamity.  Dot-and-go-One  disencum- 
bered himself  of  his  timber  leg  and  took  his  place,  upon  sound  and 
healthy  limbs,  beside  his  fellow-rascal ;  then  they  roared  out  a  rollick- 
ing ditty,  and  were  re-enforced  by  the  whole  crew,  at  the  end  of  each 
stanza,  in  a  rousing  chorus.  By  the  time  the  last  stanza  was  reached, 
the  half-drunken  enthusiasm  had  risen  to  such  a  pitch,  that  everybody 
joined  in  and  sang  it  clear  through  from  the  beginning,  producing  a 
volume  of  villanous  sound  that  made  the  rafters  quake.  These  were 
the  inspiring  words : 


210 


FOO-FOO   THE  FIBST. 


"Bien  Darkmans  then,  Bouse  Mort  and  Ken, 
The  bien  Coves  bings  awast, 
On  Chates  to  trine  by  Rome  Coves  dine 
For  his  long  lib  at  last. 
Bing'd  out  bien  Morts  and  toure,  and  toufe, 
Bing  out  of  the  Rome  vile  bine, 
And  toure  the  Cove  that  cloy'd  your  duds, 
Upon  the  Chates  to  trine."  ^ 


Conversation  followed ;  not  in  the  thieves'  dialect  of  the  song,  for 

that  was  only  used  in  talk  when 
unfriendly  ears  might  be  listen- 
ing. In  the  course  of  it  it  ap- 
peared that  "  John  Hobbs  "  was 
not  altogether  a  new  recruit,  but 
had  trained  in  the  gang  at  some 
former  time.  His  later  history 
was  called  for,  and  when  he  said 
he  had  "  accidentally "  killed  a 
man,  considerable  satisfaction  was 
expressed ;  when  he  added  that 
the  man  was  a  priest,  he  was 
roundly  applauded,  and  had  to 
take  a  drink  with  everybod3^ 
Old  acquaintances  welcomed  him 
joyously,  and  new  ones  were 
proud  to  shake  him  by  the  hand. 
He  was  asked  why  he  had  "•  tarried 
away  so  many  months."  He  an- 
swered — 

"London    is   better   than   the 

'they   llOAKEU   OUT   A  ROLLICKING 

DITTY."  country,    and    safer     these    late 


1  From  "  The  English  Rogue;  "  Loiulou,  1665. 


FOO-FOO    THE  FIBST.  211 

years,  the  laws  be  so  bitter  and  so  diligently  enforced.  An'  I  had 
not  had  that  accident,  I  had  staid  there.  I  had  resolved  to  stay, 
and  never  more  venture  country-wards  —  but  the  accident  has  ended 
that.'" 

He  inquired  how  many  persons  the  gang  numbered  now.  The 
"  Ruffler,"  or  chief,  answered  — 

"  Five  and  twenty  sturdy  budges,  bulks,  files,  clapperdogeons  and 
maunders,  counting  the  dells  and  doxies  and  other  morts.^  Most  are 
here,  the  rest  are  wandering  eastward,  along  the  winter  lay.  We 
follow  at  dawn." 

"  I  do  not  see  the  Wen  among  the  honest  folk  about  me.  Where 
may  he  be  ?  " 

"  Poor  lad,  his  diet  is  brimstone,  now,  and  over  hot  for  a  delicate 
taste.     He  was  killed  in  a  brawl,  somewhere  about  midsummer." 

"I  sorrow  to  hear  that;  the  Wen  was  a  capable  man,  and  brave." 

"  That  was  he,  truly.  Black  Bess,  his  dell,  is  of  us  yet,  but  absent 
on  the  eastward  tramp ,  a  fine  lass,  of  nice  ways  and  orderly  conduct, 
none  ever  seeing  her  drunk  above  four  days  in  the  seven." 

"■  She  was  ever  strict  —  I  remember  it  well  —  a  goodly  wench  and 
worthy  all  commendation.  Her  mother  was  more  free  and  less  par- 
ticular ;  a  troublesome  and  ugly  tempered  beldame,  but  furnished 
with  a  wit  above  the  common." 

"We  lost  her  through  it.  Her  gift  of  palmistry  and  other  sorts 
of  fortune-telling  begot  for  her  at  last  a  witch's  name  and  fame.  The 
law  roasted  her  to  death  at  a  slow  fire.  It  did  toucb  me  to  a  sort  of 
tenderness  to  see  the  gallant  way  she  met  her  lot  —  cursing  and  revil- 
ing all  the  crowd  that  gaped  and  gazed  around  her,  whilst  the  flames 
licked  upward  toward  her  face  and  catched  her  thin  locks  and  crackled 
about    her   old  gray  head  —  cursing   them,   said    I  ?  —  cursing   them  ! 

1  Canting  terms  for  various  kinds  of  thieves,  beggars  and  vagabonds,  and  their  female 
companions. 


212 


FOO-FOO   THE  FIRST. 


why  an'  thou  shouldst  live  a  thousand  years  thoud'st  never  hear  so 
masterful  a  cursing.  Alack,  her  art  died  with  her.  There  be  base 
and  weakling  imitations  left,  but  no  true  blasphemy." 

The  Ruffler  sighed ;   the  listeners  sighed  in  sympathy  ;  a  general 
depression  fell  upon  the   company  for  a  moment,  for  even  liardened 
outcasts  like  these  are  not  wholly  dead  to  sentiment,  but 
are  able  to  feel  a  fleeting  sense  of  loss   and   affliction  at 

wide  intervals  and  under  peculiarly 
favoring  circumstances  —  as  in  cases 
like  to  this,  for  instance,  when  ge- 
nius and  culture  depart  and  leave 
no  heir.  However,  a  deep  drink  all 
round  soon  restored  the  spirits  of 
the  mourners. 

"  Have  any  others  of  our  friends 
fared  hardly  ?  "  asked  Hobbs. 

'•'■  Some  —  yes.  Particularly  new 
comers  —  such  as  small  husband- 
men turned  shiftless  and  hungry 
upon  the  world  because  their  farms 
were  taken  from  them  to  be  changed 
to  sheep  ranges.  They  begged,  and 
were  whipped  at  the  cart's  tail, 
naked  from  the  girdle  up,  till  the 
blood  ran ;  then  set  in  the  stocks 
to  be  pelted;  they  begged  again, 
were  whipped  again,  and  deprived 
of  an  ear ;  they  begged  a  third  time  —  poor  devils,  what  else  could 
they  do?  —  and  were  branded  on  the  cheek  with  a  red  hot  iron, 
then  sold  for  slaves ;  they  ran  away,  were  hunted  down,  and  hanged. 
'Tis  a  brief   tale,   and    quickly  told.     Others    of   us   have    fared   less 


"  WHILST   THE   FLAMES    LICKED 
UPWARDS." 


FOO-FOO    THE  FIRST. 


213 


hardly.     Stand  forth,  Yokel,  Burns,  and  Hodge  —  show  your  adorn- 
ments !  " 

These  stood  up  and  stripped  away  some  of  their  rags,  exposing 
their  backs,  criss-crossed  with  ropy  old  welts  left  by  the  lash;  one 
turned  up  his  hair  and  showed  the  place  where  a  left  ear  had   once 


"they  were  whipped  at  the  cart's  tail." 


been ;    another   showed    a    brand    upon    his 

shoulder  —  the  letter  V  —  and  a  mutilated  ear ;  the  third  said  — 

"  I  am  Yokel,  once  a  farmer  and  prosperous,  with  loving  wife  and 
kids  —  now  am  I  somewhat  different  in  estate  and  calling ;  and  the 
wife  and  kids  are  gone ;  mayhap  they  are  in  heaven,  mayhap  in  —  in 


214  FOO-FOO    THE  FIRST. 

the  other  place  —  but  the  kindly  God  be  thanked,  they  bide  no  more 
in  Migland !  My  good  old  blameless  mother  strove  to  earn  bread  by 
nursing  the  sick ;  one  of  these  died,  the  doctors  knew  not  how,  so  my 
mother  was  burnt  for  a  witch,  whilst  my  babes  looked  on  and  wailed. 
English  law  !  —  up,  all,  with  your  cups  !  —  now  altogether  and  with  a 
cheer !  —  drink  to  the  merciful  English  law  that  delivered  her  from  the 
English  hell !  Thank  you,  mates,  one  and  all.  I  begged,  from  house 
to  house  —  I  and  the  wife  —  bearing  with  us  the  hungry  kids  —  but  it 
was  crime  to  be  hungry  in  England  —  so  they  stripped  us  and  lashed 
us  through  three  towns.  Drink  ye  all  again  to  the  merciful  English 
law !  —  for  its  lash  drank  deep  of  my  Mary's  blood  and  its  blessed 
deliverance  came  quick.  She  lies  there,  in  the  potter's  field,  safe  from 
all  harms.  And  the  kids  —  well,  whilst  the  law  lashed  me  from  town 
to  town,  they  starved.  Drink  lads  —  only  a  drop  —  a  drop  to  the  poor 
kids,  that  never  did  any  creature  harm.  I  begged  again  —  begged  for 
a  crust,  and  got  the  stocks  and  lost  an  ear  —  see,  here  bides  the  stump ; 
I  begged  again,  and  here  is  the  stump  of  the  other  to  keep  me  minded 
of  it.  And  still  I  begged  again,  and  was  sold  for  a  slave  —  here  on  my 
cheek  under  this  stain,  if  I  washed  it  off,  ye  might  see  the  red  S  the 
branding-iron  left  there !  A  slave  !  Do  3'e  understand  that  word ! 
An  English  slave  !  —  that  is  he  that  stands  before  ye.  I  have  run 
from  my  master,  and  when  I  am  found  —  the  heavy  curse  of  heaven 
fall  on  the  law  of  the  land  that  hath  commanded  it !  —  I  shall 
hang ! "  1 

A  ringing  voice  came  through  the  murky  air  — 
"  Thou  shalt  not !  —  and  this  day  the  end  of  that  law  is  come  ! " 
All  turned,  and  saw  the  fantastic  figure  of  the  little  king  approach- 
ing hurriedly ;  as  it  emerged  into  the  light  and  was  clearly  revealed, 
a  general  explosion  of  inquiries  broke  out : 

"Who  is  it?      What  is  it?     Who  art  thou,  manikin?" 

1  See  Note  10,  at  end  of  volume. 


FOO-FOO    THE  FIRST. 


215 


The  boy  stood  unconfused  in  the  midst  of  all  those  surprised  and 
ijiiestioning  eyes,  and  answered  with  princely  dignity  — 

"  I  am  Edward,  king  of  England." 

A  wild  burst  of  laughter  followed,  partly  of  derision  and  partly  of 
delight  in  the 
excellence  of 
the  joke.  The 
king  was 
stun  g.  He 
said  sharply  — 

"  Ye  man- 
n  e  r  1  e  s  s  va- 
grants, is  this 
your  recogni- 
tion of  the 
royal  boon  I 
have  prom- 
ised?" 

He  said 
more,  with  an- 
gry voice  and 
excited  ges- 
ture, but  it  was  4'~ 

lost  in  a  whirlwind  of  laughter  and  mocking  exclamations.  "John 
Hobbs  "  made  several  attempts  to  make  himself  heard  above  the  din, 
and  at  last  succeeded  —  saying  — 

"Mates,  he  is  my  son,  a  dreamer,  a  fool,  and  stark  mad: — mind 
him  not  —  he  thinketh  he  is  the  king." 

"  I  am  the  king,"  said  Edward,  turning  toward  him,  "  as  thou  shalt 
know  to  thy  cost,  in  good  time.  Thou  hast  confessed  a  murder  —  thou 
shalt  swing  for  it." 


216 


FOO-FOO    TUE  FIRST. 


"  Thou  It  betray  me  ?  —  thou  ?     An'  I  get  my  hands  upon  thee  "  — 
"  Tut-tut ! "  said  the  burly  Ruffler,  interposing  in  time  to  save  the 
king,  and  emphasizing  this  service   by  knocking  Hobbs  down  with  his 
fist,  "  hast  respect  for  neither  Kings  nor  Rufflers  ?     An'  thou  insult  my 

presence  so 
again,  I'll  hang 
thee  up  my- 
self." Then  he 
said  to  his  maj- 
esty, "  Thou 
must  make  no 
threats  against 
thy  mates,  lad ; 
and  thou  must 
guard  t  h  y 
tongue  from 
saying  evil  of 
them  else- 
where. Be 
king,  if  it 
please  thy  mad 
humor,  but  be 
not  harmful  in 
it.  Sink  the 
title  thou  hast 
uttered,  —  'tis 
treason ;  we  be  bad  men,  in  some  few  trifling  ways,  but  none  among 
us  is  so  base  as  to  be  traitor  to  his  king ;  we  be  loving  and  loyal  hearts, 
in  that  regard.  Note  if  I  speak  truth.  Now  —  all  together :  '  Long  live 
Edward,  king  of  England  ! '  " 

"  Long  live  Edwahd,  King  of  England  ! " 


KNOCKING   HOBBS  DOWN. 


FOO-FOO    THE  FIRST.  217 

The  response  came  with  such  a  tliundergust  from  the  motley  crew 
that  the  crazy  building  vibrated  to  the  sound.  The  httle  king's  face 
lighted  with  pleasure  for  an  instant,  and, he  slightly  inclined  his  head 
and  said  with  grave  simplicity  — 

"  I  thank  you,  my  good  people." 

This  unexpected  result  threw  the  company  into  convulsions  of 
merriment.  When  something  like  quiet  was  presently  come  again, 
the  Ruffler  said,  firmly,  but  with  an  accent  of  good  nature  — 

"  Drop  it,  boy,  'tis  not  wise,  nor  well.  Humor  thy  fancy,  if  thou 
must,  but  choose  some  other  title." 

A  tinker  shrieked  out  a  suggestion  — 

"  Foo-foo  the  First,  King  of  the  Mooncalves !  " 

The  title  "•  took,"  at  once,  every  throat  responded,  and  a  roaring 
shout  went  up,  of  — 

"  Long  live  Foo-foo  the  First,  King  of  the  Mooncalves ! "  followed 
by  hootings,  cat-calls,  and  peals  of  laughter. 

"  Hale  him  forth,  and  crown  him !  " 

"Robe  him!" 

"  Sceptre  him  !  " 

"  Throne  him  !  " 

These  and  twenty  other  cries  broke  out  at  once ;  and  almost  before 
the  poor  little  victim  could  draw  a  breath  he  was  crowned  with  a  tin 
basin,  robed  in  a  tattered  blanket,  throned  upon  a  barrel,  and  sceptred 
with  the  tinker's  soldering-iron.  Then  all  flung  themselves  upon  their 
knees  about  him  and  sent  up  a  chorus  of  ironical  wailings,  and  mock- 
ing supplications,  whilst  they  swabbed  their  eyes  with  their  soiled  and 
ragged  sleeves  and  aprons  — 

"  Be  gracious  to  us,  O,  sweet  king  !  " 

"  Trample  not  upon  thy  beseeching  worms,  O  noble  majesty  !  " 

"  Pity  thy  slaves,  and  comfort  them  with  a  royal  kick  I  " 

"  Cheer  us  and  warm  us  with  thy  gracious  rays,  O  flaming  sun  of 
sovereignty  I  " 


218 


FOO-FOO    THE   FIRST. 


"  Sanctify  the  ground  with  the  touch  of  thy  foot,  tliat  we  may  eat 
tlie  dirt  and  be  ennobled !  " 

"  Deign  to  spit  upon  us,  .O  sire,  that  our  children's  children  may 
tell  of  thy  princely  condescension,  and  be  proud  and  happy  for- 
ever !  " 


But  the  humorous  tinker  made  the  "  hit "  of  the  evening  and  car- 
ried off  the  honors.  Kneeling,  he  pretended  to  kiss  the  king's  foot, 
and  was  indignantly  spurned ;  whereupon  he  went  about  begging  for 
a  rag  to  paste  over  the  place  upon  his  face  which  had  been  touched  by 
the  foot,  saying  it  must  be  preserved  from  contact  with  the  vulgar  air, 
and  that  he  should  make  his  fortune  by  going  on  the  highway  and 
exposing  it  to  view  at  the  rate  of  a  hundred  shillings  a  sight.     He 


FOO-FOO    THE  FIRST.  219 

made  himself  so  killiiigiy  fu  11113-  that  he  was  the  envy  and  admiration 
of  the  whole  mangy  rabble. 

Tears  of  shame  and  indignation  stood  in  the  little  monarch's  eyes; 
and  the  thought  in  his  heart  was,  "Had  I  offered  them  a  deep  wrong 
they  could  not  be  more  cruel — yet  have  I  proffered  nought  but  to  do 
them  a  kindness  —  and  it  is  thus  they  use  me  for  it!  " 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


THE    PRINCE    WITH    THE    TRAMPS. 


The  troop  of  vagabonds  turned  out  at  early  dawn,  and  set  forward 
on  their  mareh.  There  was  a  lowering  sky  overhead,  sloppy  ground 
under  foot,  and  a  winter  chill  in  the  air.  All  gayety  was  gone  from 
the  company ;  some  were  sullen  and  silent,  some  were  irritable  and 
petulant,  none  were  gentle-humored,  all  were  thirsty. 

The  Ruffler  put  "  Jack  "  in  Hugo's  charge,  with  some  brief  instruc- 
tions, and  commanded  John  Canty  to  keep  away  from  him  and  let  him 
alone ;  he  also  warned  Hugo  not  to  be  too  rough  with  the  lad. 

After  a  while  the  weather  grew  milder,  and  the  clouds  lifted  some- 
what. The  troop  ceased  to  shiver,  and  their  spirits  began  to  improve. 
They  grew  more  and  more  cheerful,  and  finally  began  to  chaff  each 
other  and  insult  passengers  along  the  highway.  This  showed  that 
they  were  awaking  to  an  appreciation  of  life  and  its  joys  once  more. 
The  dread  in  which  their  sort  was  held  was  apparent  in  the  fact  that 
everybody  gave  them  the  road,  and  took  their  ribald  insolences  meekly, 
without  venturing  to  talk  back.  They  snatched  linen  from  the  hedges, 
occasionally,  in  full  view  of  the  owners,  who  made  no  protest,  but  only 
seemed  grateful  that  they  did  not  take  the  hedges,  too. 

By  and  by  they  invaded  a  small  farm  house  and  made  themselves 
at  home  while  the  trembling  farmer  and  his  people  swept  the  larder 
clean  to  furnish  a  breakfast  for  them.  They  chucked  the  housewife 
and  her  daughters  under  the  chin  whilst  receiving  the  food  from  their 

223 


224 


THE  PRINCE    WITH   THE   TRAMPS. 


.v::j. 


hands,  and  made  coarse  jests  about  them,  accompanied  with  insulting 
epithets  and  bursts  of  horse-laughter.  They  threw  bones  and  vege- 
tables at  the  farmer  and  his  sons,  kept  them  dodging  all  the  time,  and 
applauded  uproariously  when   a  good  hit  was  made.     They  ended  by 

buttering  the 
head  of  one  of 
the  daughters 
who  resented 
some  of  their 
familiarities. 
When  they 
took  their 
leave  they 
threatened  to 
come  back  and 
burn  the  house 
over  the  heads 
of  the  family 
if  any  report 
of  their  doings 
got  to  the  ears 
of  the  authori- 
ties. 

About  noon, 
after  a  long  and  weary  tramp,  the  gang  came  to 
a  halt  behind  a  hedge  on  the  outskirts  of  a  considerable  village.  An 
hour  was  allowed  for  rest,  then  the  crew  scattered  themselves  abroad 
to  enter  the  village  at  different  points  to  ply  their  various  trades.  — 
"  Jack  "  was  sent  with  Hugo.  They  wandered  hither  and  thither  for 
some  time,  Hugo  watching  for  opportunities  to  do  a  stroke  of  business 
but  finding  none  —  so  he  finally  said  — 


THE   TKOOP   OF   VAGABONDS   SET 
FORWARD." 


THE  PRINCE   WITH  THE   TBAMPS. 


225 


"  I  see  nought  to  steal ;  it  is  a  paltry  place.  Wherefore  we  will 
beg." 

"TTe,  forsooth!  Follow  thy  trade  —  it  befits  thee.  But  I  will 
not  beg." 

"  Thou'lt  not  beg!"  exclaimed  Hugo,  eying  the  king  with  sur- 
prise.    "  Prithee,  since  when  hast  thou  reformed  ?  " 

"What  dost  thou  mean?" 

"  Mean?     Hast  thou  not  begged  the  streets  of  London  all  thy  life?" 

"I?     Thou  idiot!" 


'4^ 


■'  THEY  THREW  BONES  AND 
VEGETABLES." 


"  Spare  thy  compliments  —  thy 
stock  will   last    the  longer.      Thy 
father  says  thou  hast  begged  all  thy  days.     Mayhap  he  lied.     Perad- 
venture  you  will  even  make  so  bold  as  to  say  he  lied,"  scoffed  Hugo. 
"Him  you  call  my  father?     Yes,  he  lied." 

"  Come,  play  not  thy  merry  game  of  madman  so  far,  mate ;  use 
it  for  thy  amusement,  not  thy  hurt.  An'  I  tell  him  this,  he  will 
scorch  thee  finely  for  it." 

"Save  thyself  the  trouble.     I  will  tell  him." 


226  THE   PRINCE    WITH   THE    TRAMPS. 

"  I  like  thy  spirit,  I  do  in  truth ;  but  I  do  not  admire  thy  judgment. 
Bone-rackings  and  bastings  be  plenty  enow  in  this  life,  without  going 
out  of  one's  way  to  invite  them.  But  a  truce  to  these  matters;  / 
believe  your  father.  I  doubt  not  he  can  lie ;  I  doubt  not  he  doth  lie, 
upon  occasion,  for  the  best  of  us  do  that ;  but  there  is  no  occasion 
here.  A  wise  man  does  not  waste  so  good  a  commodity  as  lying 
for  nought.  But  come ;  sith  it  is  thy  humor  to  give  over  begging, 
wherewithal  shall  we  busy  ourselves  ?     With  robbing  kitchens  ?  " 

The  king  said,  impatiently  — 

"  Have  done  with  this  folly  —  you  weary  me  !  " 
^  Hugo  replied,  with  temper  — 

"  Now  harkee,  mate  ;  you  will  not  beg,  you  will  not  rob ;  so  be  it. 
But  I  will  tell  you  what  you  will  do.  You  will  play  decoy  whilst  / 
beg.     Refuse,  an'  you  think  you  may  venture  !  " 

The  king  was  about  to  reply  contemptuously,  when  Hugo  said, 
interrupting  — 

"  Peace  !  Here  comes  one  with  a  kindly  face.  Now  will  I  fall 
down  in  a  fit.  When  the  stranger  runs  to  me,  set  you  up  a  wail,  and 
fall  upon  your  knees,  seeming  to  weep ;  then  cry  out  as  all  the  devils 
of  misery  were  in  your  belly,  and  say,  '  O,  sir,  it  is  my  poor  afflicted 
brother,  and  we  be  friendless ;  o'  God's  name  cast  through  your  mer- 
ciful eyes  one  pitiful  look  upon  a  sick,  forsaken  and  most  miserable 
wretch ;  bestow  one  little  penny  out  of  thy  riches  upon  one  smitten 
of  God  and  ready  to  perish!' — and  mind  you,  keep  3^ou  07i  wailing, 
and  abate  not  till  we  bilk  him  of  his  penny,  else  shall  you  rue  it." 

Then  immediately  Hugo  began  to  moan,  and  groan,  and  roll  his 
eyes,  and  reel  and  totter  about ;  and  when  the  stranger  was  close  at 
hand,  down  he  sprawled  before  him,  with  a  shriek,  and  began  to  writhe 
and  wallow  in  the  dirt,  in  seeming  agony. 

"  O  dear,  O  dear !  "  cried  the  benevolent  stranger,  "  O  poor  soul, 
poor  soul,  how  he  doth  suffer!     There  —  let  me  help  thee  up." 


THE  PRINCE    WITH   THE   TRAMPS. 


227 


"  O,  noble  sir,  forbear,  and  God  love  you  for  a  princely  gentleman 
—  but  it  giveth  me  cruel  pain  to  touch  me  when  I  am  taken  so.  My 
brother  there  will  tell  your  worship  how  I  am  racked  with  anguish 
when  these  fits  be  upon  me.  A  penny,  dear  sir,  a  penny,  to  buy  a 
little  food;  then  leave  me  to  my  sorrows." 

"  A  penny !  thou  shalt  have  three,  thou  hapless  creature  "  —  and 
he  fumbled 
in  his  pocket 
with  nervous 
haste  and  got 
them  out. 
"  There,  poor 
lad,      take 


BEGAN   TO   WRITHE   ANI>   WALLOW  IN   THE   DIRT." 


them,  and  most  welcome.  Now  come  hither, 
my  boy,  and  help  me  carry  thy  stricken  brother  to  yon  house, 
where  "  — 

"  I  am  not  his  brother,"  said  the  king,   interrupting. 

"What!  not  his  brother?" 

"  O  hear  him ! "  groaned  Hugo,  then  privately  ground  his  teeth. 
"  He  denies  his  own  brother  —  and  he  with  one  foot  in  the  grave  ! " 


228 


THE  PRINCE    WITH   THE   TRAMPS. 


"  Boy,  thou  art  indeed  hard  of  heart,  if  this  is  thy  brother.  For 
shame  !  —  and  he  scarce  able  to  move  hand  or  foot.  If  he  is  not  thy 
brother,  who  is  he,  then  ?  " 

"  A  beggar  and  a  thief !     He  has  got  your  money  and  has  picked 

your  pocket  likewise.    An'  thou  wouldst 

do  a  healing  miracle,  lay  thy  staff  over 

his  shoulders  and 

trust   Providence 

for  the  rest." 

But  Hugo  did 
not  tarry  for  the 
miracle.  In  a  mo- 
ment he  was  up 
and  off  like  the 
wind,  the  gen- 
tleman following 
after  and  raising 
the  hue  and  cry  lustily -as 
he  went.  The  king,  breath- 
ing deep  gratitude  to  Heaven  for  his 
own  release,  fled  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion and  did  not  slacken  his  pace  until 
he  was  out  of  harm's  reach.  He  took 
the  first  road  that  offered,  and  soon 
put  the  village  behind  him.  He  hur- 
ried along,  as  briskly  as  he  could, 
during  several  hours,  keeping  a  ner- 
vous watch  over  his  shoulder  for  pursuit ;  but  his  fears  left  him  at 
last,  and  a  grateful  sense  of  security  took  their  place.  He  recognized, 
now,  that  he  was  hungry ;  and  also  very  tired.  So  he  halted  at  a 
farm  house ;  but  when  he  was  about  to  speak,  he  was  cut  short  and 
driven  rudely  away.     His  clothes  were  against  him. 


THE   KINO    FLED   IN   THE   OPPOSITE 
DIKECTION." 


THE  PRINCE    WITH  THE   TRAMPS.  229 

He  wandered  on,  wounded  and  indignant,  and  Avas  resolved  to  put 
himself  in  the  way  of  like  treatment  no  more.  But  hunger  is  pride's 
master ;  so  as  the  evening  drew  near,  he  made  an  attempt  at  another 
farm  house ;  but  here  he  fared  worse  than  before ;  for  he  was  called 
hard  names  and  was  promised  arrest  as  a  vagrant  except  he  moved 
on  promptly. 

The  night  came  on,  chilly  and  overcast ;  and  still  the  footsore 
monarch  labored  slowly  on.  He  was  obliged  to  keep  moving,  for 
every  time  he  sat  down  to  rest  he  was  soon  penetrated  to  the  bone 
with  the  cold.  All  his  sensations  and  experiences,  as  he  moved 
through  the  solemn  gloom  and  the  empty  vastness  of  the  night,  were 
new  and  strange  to  him.  At  intervals  he  heard  voices  approach,  pass 
by,  and  fade  into  silence  ;  and  as  he  saw  nothing  more  of  the  bodies 
they  belonged  to  than  a  sort  of  formless  drifting  blur,  there  was 
something  spectral  and  uncanny  about  it  all  that  made  him  shudder. 
Occasionally  he  caught  the  twinkle  of  a  light  —  always  far  away, 
apparently  —  almost  in  another  world;  if  he  heard  the  tinkle  of  a 
sheep's  bell,  it  was  vague,  distant,  indistinct ;  the  muffled  lowing  of 
the  herds  floated  to  him  on  the  night  wind  in  vanishing  cadences,  a 
mournful  sound ;  now  and  then  came  the  complaining  howl  of  a  dog 
over  viewless  expanses  of  field  and  forest ;  all  sounds  were  remote ; 
they  made  the  little  king  feel  that  all  life  and  activity  were  far 
removed  from  him,  and  that  he  stood  solitary,  companionless,  in  the 
centre  of  a  measureless  solitude. 

He  stumbled  along,  through  the  grewsome  fascinations  of  this  new 
experience,  startled  occasionally  by  the  soft  rustling  of  the  dry  leaves 
overhead,  so  like  human  whispers  they  seemed  to  sound  ;  and  by  and 
by  he  came  suddenly  upon  the  freckled  light  of  a  tin  lantern  near  at 
hand.  He  stepped  back  into  the  shadows  and  waited.  The  lantern 
stood  by  the  open  door  of  a  barn.  The  king  waited  some  time  — 
there  was  no  sound,  and  nobody  stirring.     He  got  so  cold,  standing 


230 


THE  PRINCE    WITH   THE   TRAMPS. 


still,  and  the  hospitable  barn  looked  so  enticing,  that  at  last  he  re- 
solved to  risk  every  thing  and  enter.  He  started  swiftly  and  stealthily, 
and  just  as  he  was  crossing  the  threshold  he  heard  voices  behind  him. 
He  darted  behind  a  cask,  within  the  barn,  and  stooped  down.     Two 


farm  laborers  came  in, 
tern  with  them,  and 
ing  meanwhile.  Whilst 
with  the  light,  the  king 
his  eyes   and   took  the 


HE   STUMBLED   ALONG. 


bringing  tlie  Ian- 
fell  to  work,  talk- 
they  moved  about 
made  good  use  of 
bearings    of    what 


seemed  to  be  a  good  sized  stall  at  the  further  end  of  the  place,  pur- 
posing to  grope  his  way  to  it  when  he  should  be  left  to  himself.  He 
also  noted  the  position  of  a  pile  of  horse  blankets,  midway  of  the 
route,  with  the  intent  to  levy  upon  them  for  the  service  of  the  crown 
of  England  for  one  night. 


THE   PRINCE    WITH    THE    TRAMPS.  231 

By  and  by  the  men  finished  and  went  away,  fastening  the  door 
behind  them  and  taking  the  lantern  with  them.  The  shivering  king 
made  for  the  blankets,  with  as  good  speed  as  the  darkness  would 
allow ;  gathered  them  up  and  then  groped  his  way  safely  to  the  stall. 
Of  two  of  the  blankets  he  made  a  bed,  then  covered  himself  with  the 
remaining  two.  He  was  a  glad  monarch,  now,  though  the  blankets 
were  old  and  thin,  and  not  quite  warm  enough ;  and  besides  gave  out 
a  pungent  horsy  odor  that  was  almost  suffocatingly  powerful. 

Although  the  king  was  hungry  and  chilly,  he  was  also  so  tired  and 
so  drowsy  that  these  latter  influences  soon  began  to  get  the  advantage 
of  the  former,  and  he  presently  dozed  off  into  a  state  of  semi-con- 
sciousness. Then,  just  as  he  was  on  the  point  of  losing  himself 
wholly,  he  distinctly  felt  something  touch  him  I  JHe  was  broad  awake 
in  a  moment,  and  gasping  for  breath.  The  cold  horror  of  tliat  mys- 
terious touch  in  the  dark  almost  made  his  heart  stand  still.  He  lay 
motionless,  and  listened,  scarcely  breathing.  But  nothing  stirred,  and 
there  was  no  sound.  He  continued  to  listen,  and  wait,  during  what 
seemed  a  long  time,  but  still  nothing  stirred,  and  there  was  no  sound. 
So  he  began  to  drop  into  a  drowse  once  more,  at  last;  and  all  at  once 
he  felt  that  mysterious  touch  again !  It  was  a  grisly  thing,  this  light 
touch  from  this  noiseless  and  invisible  presence ;  it  made  the  boy  sick 
with  ghostly  fears.  What  should  he  do  ?  That  was  the  question ; 
but  he  did  not  know  how  to  answer  it.  Should  he  leave  these  reason- 
ably comfortable  quarters  and  fly  from  this  inscrutable  horror?  But 
fly  whither  ?  He  could  not  get  out  of  the  barn ;  and  the  idea  of 
scurrying  blindly  hither  and  thither  in  the  dark,  within  the  captivity 
of  the  four  walls,  with  this  phantom  gliding  after  him,  and  visiting 
him  with  that  soft  hideous  touch  upon  cheek  or  shoulder  at  every 
turn,  was  intolerable.  But  to  stay  where  he  was,  and  endure  this 
living  death  all  night?  —  was  that  better?  No.  What,  then,  was 
there  left  to  do?  Ah,  there  was  but  one  course;  he  knew  it  well  — 
he  must  put  out  his  hand  and  find  that  thing ! 


232 


THE  PRINCE    WITH   THE   TRAMPS, 


It  was  easy  to  think  this ;  but  it  was  hard  to  brace  himself  up  to 
try  it.  Three  times  he  stretched  his  hand  a  little  way  out  into  the 
dark,  gingerl}^ ;  and  snatched  it  suddenly  back,  with  a  gasp  —  not 
because  it  had  encountered  any  thing,  but  because  he  had  felt  so  sure 
it  was  just  gohig  to.  But  the  fourth  time,  he  groped  a  little  further, 
and  his  hand  lightly  swept  against  something  soft  and  warm.     This 


petrified  him,  nearly,  with  fright  — 
his  mind  was  in  such  a  state  that 
he  could  imagine  the  thing  to  be  nothing  else  than  a  corpse,  newly 
dead  and  still  warm.  He  thought  he  Avould  rather  die  than  touch  it 
again.  But  he  thought  this  false  thought  because  he  did  not  know 
the  immortal  strength  of  human  curiosity.  In  no  long  time  his  hand 
was  tremblingly  groping  again  —  against  his  judgment,  and  without 
his  consent  —  but  groping  persistently  on,  just  the  same.  It  encoun- 
tered a  bunch  of  long  hair ;  he  shuddered,  but  followed  up  the  hair 
and  found  what  seemed  to  be  a  warm  rope ;  followed  up  the  rope  and 
found  an  innocent  calf! — for  the  rope  was  not  a  rope  at  all,  but  the 
calf's  tail. 


THE  PRINCE    WITH   THE    TEAMPS. 


233 


The  king  was  cordially  ashamed  of  himself  for  having  gotten  all 
that  fright  and  misery  out  of  so  paltry  a  matter  as  a  slumbering  calf ; 
but  he  need  not  have  felt  so  about  it,  for  it  was  not  the  calf  that 
frightened  him  but  a  dreadful  non-existent  something  which  the  calf 
stood  for ;  and  any  other  boy,  in  those  old  superstitious  times,  would 
have  acted  and  suffered  just  as  he  had  done. 

The  king  was  not  only  delighted  to  find  that  the    creature  was 
only  a  calf,  but  delighted   to 
have   the  calf's  company,   for 
he      had     been 
feeling  so  lone- 
some and  friend- 
less     that      the 
c  o  m  p  a  n  y    and 
comradeship    of 
even   this   hum- 
ble   animal  was 
welcome.      And 
he  had  been  so 
buffeted,    so 

rudely   entreated   by  his  own    kind,  that  it 
was  a  real  comfort   to  him  to  feel   that   he 

was  at  last  in  the  society  of  a  fellow  creature  that  had  at  least  a  soft 
heart  and  a  gentle  spirit,  whatever  loftier  attributes  might  be  lacking. 
So  he  resolved  to  waive  rank  and  make  friends  with  the  calf. 

While  stroking  its  sleek  warm  back  —  for  it  lay  near  him  and 
within  easy  re;^cli  —  it  occurred  to  him  that  this  calf  might  be  utilized 
in  more  ways  than  one.  Whereupon  he  re-arranged  his  bed,  spread- 
ing it  down  close  to  the  calf;  then  he  cuddled  himself  up  to  the  calf's 
back,  drew  the  covers  up  over  himself  and  his  friend,  and  in  a  minute 
or  two  was  as  warm  and  comfortable  as  he  had  ever  been  in  the  downy 
couches  of  the  regal  palace  of  Westminster. 


234  THE  PRINCE    WITH   THE   TRAMPS. 

Pleasant  thoughts  came,  at  once ;  life'  took  on  a  cheerfuller  seem- 
ing. He  was  free  of  the  bonds  of  servitude  and  crime,  free  of  the 
companionship  of  base  and  brutal  outlaws ;  he  was  warm,  he  was  shel- 
tered ;  in  a  word,  he  was  happy.  The  night  wind  was  rising ;  it  swept 
by  in  fitful  gusts  that  made  the  old  barn  quake  and  rattle,  then  its 
forces  died  down  at  intervals,  and  went  moaning  and  wailing  around 
corners  and  projections  —  but  it  was  all  music  to  the  king,  now  that 
he  was  snug  and  comfortable  :  let  it  blow  and  rage,  let  it  batter  and 
bang,  let  it  moan  and  wail,  he  minded  it  not,  he  only  enjo3ed  it.  He 
merely  snuggled  the  closer  to  his  friend,  in  a  luxury  of  warm  content- 
ment, and  drifted  blissfully  out  of  consciousness  into  a  deep  and 
dreamless  sleep  that  was  full  of  serenity  and  peace.  The  distant 
dogs  howled,  the  melancholy  kine  complained,  and  the  winds  went  on 
raging,  whilst  furious  sheets  of  rain  drove  along  the  roof;  but  the 
majesty  of  England  slept  on,  undisturbed,  and  the  calf  did  the  same, 
it  being  a  simple  creature  and  not  easily  troubled  by  storms  or  embar- 
rassed by  sleeping  with  a  king. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE    PRINCE    WITH    THE    PEASANTS. 

When  the  king  awoke  in  the  early  morning,  he  found  that  a  wet 
but  thoughtful  rat  had  crept  into  the  place  during  the  night  and  made 
a  cosey  bed  for  itself  in  his  bosom.  Being  disturbed,  now,  it  scam- 
pered away.  The  boy  smiled,  and  said,  "  Poor  fool,  why  so  fearful  ? 
I  am  as  forlorn  as  thou.  'Twould  be  a  shame  in  me  to  hurt  the  help- 
less, who  am  myself  so  helpless.  Moreover,  I  owe  you  thanks  for  a 
good  omen ;  for  when  a  king  has  fallen  so  low  that  the  very  rats  do 
make  a  bed  of  him,  it  surely  meaneth  that  his  fortunes  be  upon  the 
turn,  since  it  is  plain  he  can  no  lower  go." 

He  got  up  and  stepped  out  of  the  stall,  and  just  then  he  heard  the 
sound  of  children's  voices.  The  barn  door  opened  and  a  couple  of 
little  girls  came  in.  As  soon  as  they  saw  him  their  talking  and 
laughing  ceased,  and  they  stopped  and  stood  still,  gazing  at  him  with 
strong  curiosity ;  they  presently  began  to  whisper  togetlier,  then  they 
approached  nearer,  and  stopped  again  to  gaze  and  whisper.  By  and 
by  they  gathered  courage  and  began  to  discuss  him  aloud.  One 
said  — 

"He  hath  a  comely  face." 

The  other  added  — 

"And  pretty  hair." 

"  But  is  ill  clothed  enow." 

"And  how  starved  he  looketh." 

237 


238  THE  PRINCE    WITH   THE  PEASANTS. 

They  came  still  nearer,  sidling  shyly  around  and  about  him,  ex- 
amining him  minutely  from  all  points,  as  if  he  were  some  strange  new 
kind  of  animal;  but  warily  and  watchfully,  the  while,  as 'if  they  half 
feared  he  might  be  a  sort  of  animal  that  would  bite,  upon  occasion. 
Finally  they  halted  before  him,  holding  each  other's  hands,  for  protec- 
tion, and  took  a  good  satisfying  stare  with  their  innocent  eyes ;  then 
one  of  them  plucked  up  all  her  courage  and  inquired  with  honest 
directness  — 

"Who  art  thou,  boy?" 

"I  am  the  king,"  was  the  grave  answer. 

The  children  gave  a  little  start,  and  their  eyes  spread  themselves 
wide  open  and  remained  so  during  a  speechless  half  minute.  Then 
curiosity  broke  the  silence  — 

«  The  Hng  ?     What  king  ?  " 

"The  king  of  England." 

The  children  looked  at  each  other  —  then  ac  him  —  then  at  each 
other  again  —  wonderingly,  perplexedly  —  then  one  said  — 

"  Didst  hear  him,  Margery  ?  —  he  saith  he  is  the  king.  Can  that 
be  true  ?  " 

"  How  can  it  be  else  but  true.  Prissy  ?  Would  he  say  a  lie  ?  For 
look;  you.  Prissy,  an'  it  were  not  true,  it  ivould  be  a  lie.  It  surely 
would  be.  Now  think  on't.  For  all  things  that  be  not  true,  be  lies  — 
thou  canst  make  nought  else  out  of  it." 

It  was  a  good  tight  argument,  without  a  leak  in  it  anywhere ;  and 
it  left  Prissy's  half-doubts  not  a  leg  to  stand  on.  She  considered  a 
moment,  then  put  the  king  upon  his  honor  with  the  simple  remark  — 

"  If  thou  art  truly  the  king,  then  I  believe  thee." 

"I  am  truly  the  king." 

This  settled  the  matter.  His  majesty's  royalty  was  accepted  with- 
out further  question  or  discussion,  and  the  two  little  girls  began  at 
once  to  inquire  into  how  he  came  to  be  where  he  was,  and  how  he 


THE  PRINCE    WITH   THE  PEASANTS. 


239 


came  to  be  so  unroyally  clad,  and  whither  he  was  bound,  and  all  about 
his  affairs.  It  was  a  mighty  relief  •  to  him  to  pour  out  his  troubles 
where  they  would  not  be  scoffed  at  or  doubted ;  so  he  told  his  tale 
with  feeling,  forgetting  even  his  hunger  for  the  time ;  and  it  was 
received  with  the  deepest  and  tenderest  sympathy  by  the  gentle  little 
maids.  But  when  he  got  down  to  his  latest  experiences  and  they 
learned  how  long  he  had  been  without  food, 
they  cut  him  short  and  hurried  him  away  to  \. ■■,,'{ 
the  farm  house 
to  find  a  break- 
fast for  him. 

The  king 
was  cheerful 
and  happy, 
now,  and  said 
to  himself, 
"When  I  am 
come  to  mine 
own  again,  I 
will  always 
honor  little 
children,  re- 
memb  e  ring 

how  that  these  trusted  me  and  believed  in  me 
in  my  time  of  trouble ;  whilst  they  that  were  older,  and  thought  them- 
selves wiser,  mocked  at  me  and  held  me  for  a  liar." 

The  children's  mother  received  the  king  kindly,  and  was  full  of 
pity ;  for  his  forlorn  condition  and  apparently  crazed  intellect  touched 
her  womanly  heart.  She  was  a  widow,  and  rather  poor ;  consequently 
she  had  seen  trouble  enough  to  enable  her  to  feel  for  the  unfortunate. 
She  imagined  that  the   demented  boy  had  wandered  away  from  his 


TOOK   A   GOOD   SATISFYING 
STARE." 


240 


THE  PRINCE    WITH    THE  PEASANTS. 


friends  or  keepers;  so  she  tried  to  find  out  whence  he  had  come,  in 
order  tliat  she  might  take  measures  to  return  him ;  but  all  her  refer- 
ences to  neighboring  towns  and  villages,  and  all  her  inquiries  in  the 
same  line,  went  for  nothing  —  the  boy's  face,  and  his  answers,  too, 
showed  that  the  things  she  was  talking  of  were  not  familiar  to  him. 
He  spoke  earnestly  and  simply  about  court  matters  ;  and  broke  down, 


"the   CHILDKEN'S   MOTHEK   liECElVEB  THE   KING   KINDLY." 


more  than  once,  when  speaking  of  the  late  king  "  his  father ; "  but 
whenever  the  conversation  changed  to  baser  topics,  he  lost  interest  and 
became  silent. 

The  woman  was  mightily  puzzled ;  but  she  did  not  give  up.  As 
she  proceeded  with  her  cooking,  she  set  herself  to  contriving  devices 
to  surprise  the  boy  into  betraying  his  real  secret.     She  talked  about 


THE  PRINCE    WITH   THE  PEASANTS.  241 

cattle  —  he  showed  no  concern;  then  about  sheep  —  the  same  result  — 
so  her  guess  that  he  had  been  a  shepherd  boy  was  an  error ;  she  talked 
about  mills ;  and  about  weavers,  tinkers,  smiths,  trades  and  tradesmen 
of  all  sorts ;  and  about  Bedlam,  and  jails,  and  charitable  retreats ;  but 
no  matter,  she  was  baffled  at  all  points.  Not  altogether,  either;  for 
she  argued  that  she  had  narrowed  the  thing  down  to  domestic  service. 
Yes,  she  was  sure  she  was  on  the  right  track,  now  —  he  must  have 
been  a  house  servant.  So  she  led  up  to  that.  But  the  result  was 
discouraging.  The  subject  of  sweeping  appeared  to  weary  him  ;  fire- 
building  failed  to  stir  him ;  scrubbing  and  scouring  awoke  no  enthu- 
siasm. Then  the  goodwife  touched,  with  a  perishing  hope,  and  rather 
as  a  matter  of  form,  upon  the  subject  of  cooking.  To  her  surprise,  and 
her  vast  delight,  the  king's  face  lighted  at  once !  Ah,  she  had  hunted 
him  down  at  last,  she  thought ;  and  she  was  right  proud  too,  of  the 
devious  shrewdness  and  tact  which  had  accomplished  it. 

Her  tired  tongue  got  a  chance  to  rest,  now ;  for  the  king's,  in- 
spired by  gnawing  hunger  and  the  fragrant  smells  that  came  from  the 
sputtering  pots  and  pans,  turned  itself  loose  and  delivered  itself  up 
to  such  an  eloquent  dissertation  upon  certain  toothsome  dishes,  that 
within  three  minutes  the  woman  said  to  herself,  "  Of  a  truth  I  was 
right  —  he  hath  holpen  in  a  kitchen ! "  Then  he  broadened  his  bill 
of  fare,  and  discussed  it  with  such  appreciation  and  animation,  that 
the  goodwife  said  to  herself,  "  Good  lack !  how  can  he  know  so  many 
dishes,  and  so  fine  ones  withal  ?  For  these  belong  only  upon  the  tables 
of  the  rich  and  great.  Ah,  now  I  see !  ragged  outcast  as  he  is,  he 
must  have  served  in  the  palace  before  his  reason  went  astray ;  yes,  he 
must  have  helped  in  the  very  kitchen  of  the  king  himself!  I  will  test 
him." 

Full  of  eagerness  to  prove  her  sagacity,  she  told  the  king  to  mind 
the  cooking  a  moment — hinting  that  he  might  manufacture  and  add 
a  dish  or  two,  if  he  chose  —  then  she  went  out  of  the  room  and  gave 
her  children  a  sign  to  follow  after.     The  king  muttered  — 


242 


THE  PRINCE    WITH    THE  PEASANTS. 


"  Another  English  king  had  a  commission  like  to  this,  in  a  byg-one 
time  —  it  is  nothing  against  my  dignity  to  undertake  an  office  Avhich 
the  great  Alfred  stooped  to  assume.  But  I  will  try  to  better  serve  my 
trust  than  he ;  for  he  let  the  cakes  burn." 

The   intent   was   good,  but  the   performance  was    not   answerable 

to  it ;  for  this  king,  like  the 
othei  one,  soon  fell  into  deep 
thinknigs  concerning  his  vast 
affairs,  and  the 
same  calamity 
resulted  —  the 
cookery  got 
burned.  The 
woman  returned 
in  time  to  save 
the  breakfast 
from  entire  de- 
struction ;  and 
she  p  r  )  m  p  1 1  y 
brought  the 
king  out  of  his 
dreams  with  a 
brisk  and  cordial 
tongue  -  lashing. 
Then,  seeing 
how  troubled  he 
was,  over  his 
violated  trust, 
she  softened  at  once  and  was  all  goodness  and  gentleness  toward 
Kim. 

The  boy  made  a  hearty  and  satisfying  meal,  and  was  greatly  re- 


"BKOUanT   THE   KIKU   OUT   OF   UlS   DKKAMS." 


THE  PRINCE    WITH    THE  PEASANTS.  .  243 

freshed  and  gladdened  by  it.  It  was  a  meal  which  was  distinguished 
by  this  curious  feature,  that  rank  was  waived  on  both  sides ;  yet 
neither  recipient  of  tlie  favor  was  aware  that  it  had  been  extended. 
The  goodwife  had  intended  to  feed  this  young  tramp  with  broken 
victuals  in  a  corner,  like  any  other  tramp,  or  like  a  dog ;  but  she  was 
so  remorseful  for  the  scolding  she  had  given  him,  that  she  did  what 
she  could  to  atone  for  it  by  allowing  him  to  sit  at  the  family  table 
and  eat  with  his  betters,  on  ostensible  terms  of  equality  with  them  ; 
and  the  king,  on  his  side,  was  so  remorseful  for  having  broken  his 
trust,  after  the  family  had  been  so  kind  to  him,  that  he  forced  himself 
to  atone  for  it  b}'  humbling  himself  to  the  family  level,  instead  of 
requiring  the  woman  and  her  children  to  stand  and  wait  upon  him 
while  he  occupied  their  table  in  the  solitary  state  due  Ids  birth  and 
dignity.  It  does  us  all  good  to  unbend  sometimes.  This  good  woman 
was  made  happy  all  the  day  long  by  the  applauses  which  she  got  out 
of  herself  for  her  magnanimous  condescension  to  a  tramp ;  and  the 
king  was  just  as  self-complacent  over  his  gracious  humility  toward  a 
humble  peasant  woman. 

When  breakfast  was  over,  the  housewife  told  the  king  to  wash  up 
the  dishes.  This  command  was  a  staggerer,  for  a  moment,  and  the 
king  came  near  rebelling  :  but  then  he  said  to  himself,  "  Alfred  the 
Great  watched  the  cakes ;  doubtless  he  would  have  washed  the  dishes, 
too — therefore  will  I  essay  it." 

He  made  a  sufficiently  poor  job  of  it ;  and  to  his  surprise,  too,  for 
the  cleaning  of  wooden  spoons  and  trenchers  had  seemed  an  easy  thing 
to  do.  It  was  a  tedious  and  troublesome  piece  of  work,  but  he  finished 
it  at  last.  He  was  becoming  impatient  to  get  away  on  his  journey 
now;  however,  he  was  not  to  lose  this  thrifty  dame's  society  so  easily. 
She  furnished  him  some  little  odds  and  ends  of  employment,  which  he 
got  through  with  after  a  fair  fashion  and  with  some  credit.  Then  she 
set  him  and  the  little  girls  to  paring  some  winter  apples  ;  but  he  was 


244 


THE   PRINCE    WITH    THE   PEASANTS. 


SO  awkward  at  this  service,  that  she  retired  him  from  it  and  gave  him 
a  butcher  knife  to  grind.     Afterward  she  kept  him  carding  wool  until 
he  began  to  think  he  had  laid  the  good  King  Alfred  about  far  enough 
in  the   shade   for  the    present,  in   the  matter  of 
showy   menial    heroisms    that   would    read    pic- 
turesquely in  story-books  and   histories,  and  so 
he  was  half  minded  to  resign.     And  when,  just 
after  the  noonday  dinner,  the  goodwife  gave  him 
a  basket  of  kittens  to  drown,  he 
did  resign.     At  least  he  was  just 
going  to  resign  —  for  he  felt  that 
he  must  draw  the  line  somewhere, 
and    it    seemed    to    him    that    to 
draw   it    at   kitten-drowning  was 
about     the     right    thing  —  when 
there  was   an    interruption.     The 
interruption    was    John    Canty  —  with    a 
peddler's  pack  on  his  back  —  and  Hugo  ! 

The  King  discovered  these  rascals  ap- 
proaching the  front  gate  before  they  had 
had  a  chance  to  see  him ;  so  he  said  noth- 
ing about  drawing  the  line,  but  took  up 
his  basket  of  kittens  and  stepped  quietly 
out  the  back  way,  without  a  word.  He  left  the  creatures  in  an  out- 
house, and  hurried  on,  into  a  narrow  lane  at  the  rear. 


GAVE   HIM   A   BUTCHER 
KNIFE  TO   GRIND." 


CHAPTER    XX. 


THE    PRINCE    AND    THE    HERMIT. 


The  high  hedge  hid  him  from  the  house,  now ;  and  so,  under  the 
impulse  of  a  deadly  fright,  he  let  out  all  his  forces  and  sped  toward 
a  wood  in  the  distance.  He  never  looked  back  until  he  had  almost 
gained  the  shelter  of  the  forest ;  then  he  turned  and  descried  two 
figures  in  the  distance.  That  was  sufficient ;  he  did  not  wait  to  scan 
them  critically,  but  hurried  on,  and  never  abated  his  pace  till  he  was 
far  within  the  twilight  depths  of  the  wood.  Then  he  stopped  ;  being 
persuaded  that  he  was  now  tolerably  safe.  He  listened  intently,  but 
the  stillness  was  profound  and  solemn  —  awful,  even,  and  depressing 
to  the  spirits.  At  wide  intervals  his  straining  ear  did  detect  sounds, 
but  they  were  so  remote,  and  hollow,  and  mysterious,  that  they  seemed 
not  to  be  real  sounds,  but  only  the  moaning  and  complaining  ghosts 
of  departed  ones.  So  the  sounds  were  yet  more  dreary  than  the 
silence  which  they  interrupted. 

It  was  his  purpose,  in  the  beginning,  to  stay  where  he  was,  the  rest 
of  the  day ;  but  a  chill  soon  invaded  his  perspiring  body,  and  he  was 
at  last  obliged  to  resume  movement  in  order  to  get  warm.  He  struck 
straight  through  the  forest,  hoping  to  pierce  to  a  road  presently,  but 
he  was  disappointed  in  this.  He  travelled  on  and  on;  but  the  farther 
he  went,  the  denser  the  wood  became,  apparently.  The  gloom  began 
to  thicken,  by  and  by,  and  the  king  realized  that  the  night  was  coming 
on.     It  made  him  shudder  to  think  of  spending  it  in  such  an  uncanny 


247 


248 


THE  PRINCE  AND    THE  HERMIT. 


place  ;  so  he  tried  to  hurry  faster,  but  he  only  made  the  less  speed,  for 
he  could  not  now  see  well  enough  to  choose  his  steps  judiciously ; 
consequently  he  kept  tripping  over  roots  and  tangling  himself  in  vines 
and  briers. 

And  how  glad  he  was  when  at  last  he  caught  the  glimmer  of  a 
light !      He    approached    it    waril}^,    stopping 
often  to  look  about  him  and  listen.     It  came 


from     an     unglazed    window- 
opening    in    a     shabby    little 
hut.     He  heard  a  voice,  now, 
and  felt  a  disposition   to  run 
and  hide ;  but  he  changed  his 
mind   at   once,   for  this  voice 
was    praying,    evidently.     He 
glided   to  the   one  window  of 
the  hut,  raised  himself  on  tip- 
toe, and  stole  a  glance  within.     The  room  was  small ;  its  floor  was  the 
natural  earth,  beaten  hard  by  use ;  in  a  corner  was  a  bed  of  rushes  and 
a  ragged  blanket  or  two ;  near  it  was  a  pail,  a  cup,  a  basin,  and  two  or 
three  pots  and  pans ;  there  was  a  short  bench  and  a  three-legged  stool ; 


HE   TURNED   AND   DESCKIED  TWO   FIGUKES. 


THE  PRINCE  AND    THE  HERMIT. 


249 


on  the  hearth  the  remains  of  a  fagot  fire  were  smouldering ;  before  a 
shrine,  which  was  lighted  by  a  single  candle,  knelt  an  aged  man,  and 
on  an  'old  wooden  box  at  his  side,  lay  an  open  book  and  a  human  skull. 
The  man  was  of  large,  bony  frame ;  his  hair  and  whiskers  were  very 


long  and  snow}^  white  ;  he  was 
clothed  in  a  robe  of  sheepskins 
which  reached  from  his  neck  to 
his  heels. 

"A  holy  hermit!"  said  "the 
king  to  himself;  "now  am  I 
indeed  fortunate." 

The  hermit  rose  from  his  knees ;  the  king  knocked.     A  deep  voice 
responded  — 

"  Enter  I  —  but  leave  sin  behind,  for  the  ground  whereon  thou  shalt 
stand  is  holy  !  " 


250  THE  PRINCE  AND    THE  HERMIT. 

The  king  entered,  and  paused.  The  hermit  turned  a  pair  of  gleam- 
ing, unrestful  eyes  upon  him,  and  said  — 

"Who  art  thou?" 

"  I  am  the  king,"  came  the  answer,  with  placid  simplicity. 

"Welcome,  king  I  "  cried  the  hermit,  v/ith  enthusiasm.  Then,  bus- 
tling about  with  feverish  activity,  and  constantly  saying  "Welcome, 
welcome,"  he  arranged  his  bench,  seated  the  king  on  it,  by  the  hearth, 
threw  some  fagots  on  the  fire,  and  finally  fell  to  pacing  the  floor,  with 
a  nervous  stride. 

"  Welcome  I  Ma,ny  have  sought  sanctuary  here,  but  they  were 
not  worthy,  and  were  turned  away.  But  a  king  who  casts  his  crown 
away,  and  despises  the  vain  splendors  of  his  office,  and  clothes  his  body 
in  rags,  to  devote  his  life  to  holiness  and  the  mortification  of  the  flesh 
—  he  is  worthy,  he  is  welcome! — here  shall  he  abide  all  his  days  till 
death  come."  The  king  hastened  to  interrupt  and  explain,  but  the 
hermit  paid  no  attention  to  him  —  did  not  even  hear  him,  apparently, 
but  went  right  on  with  his  talk,  with  a  raised  voice  and  a  growing 
energy.  "And  thou  shalt  be  at  peace  here.  None  shall  find  out  thy 
refuge  to  disquiet  thee  with  supplications  to  return  to  that  empty  and 
foolish  life  which  God  hath  moved  thee  to  abandon.  Thou  shalt  pray, 
here ;  thou  shalt  study  the  Book ;  thou  shalt  meditate  upon  the  follies 
and  delusions  of  this  world,  and  upon  the  sublimities  of  the  world  to 
come;  thou  shalt  feed  upon  crusts  and  herbs,  and  scourge  thy  body 
with  whips,  daily,  to  the  purifying  of  thy  soul.  Thou  shalt  wear  a 
hair  shirt  next  thy  skin  ;  thou  shalt  drink  water,  only ;  and  thou  slialt 
be  at  peace ;  yes,  wholly  at  peace  ;  for  whoso  comes  to  seek  thee  shall 
go  his  way  again,  baffled ;  he  shall  not  find  thee,  he  shall  not  molest 
thee." 

The  old  man,  still  pacing  back  and  forth,  ceased  to  speak  aloud, 
and  began  to  mutter.  The  king  seized  this  opportunity  to  state  his 
case ;    and  he   did  it  with  an   eloquence  inspired  by  uneasiness  and 


THE  PRINCE  AND    THE  HERMIT. 


251 


apprehension.  But  the  hermit  went  on  muttering,  and  gave  no  heed. 
And  still  muttering,  he  approached  the  king  and  said,  impressively  — 
"  'Sh  !  I  will  tell  you  a  secret !  "  He  bent  down  to  impart  it,  but 
checked  himself,  and  assumed  a  listening  attitude.  After  a  moment 
or  two  he  went  on  tiptoe  to  the  window-opening,  put  his  head  out  and 
peered  around  in  the  gloaming, 
then  came  tiptoeing  back  again, 
put  his  face  close  down  to  the 
king's,  and  whispered  — 

"  I  am  an  archangel !  " 

The  king  started  violently,  and 
said    to    himself,    "-Would    God    I 
were    with    the    outlaws 
again  ;  for  lo,  now  am  I 
the    prisoner  of    a    mad- 
man ! 
sions 

and  they  showed  plainly 
in  his  face.  In  a  low, 
excited  voice,  the  hermit 
continued  — 

'•'•  I  see  you  feel  my 
atmosphere !  There's  awe 
in  your  face  !  None  may 
be  in  this  atmosphere  and 
not  be  thus  affected ;  for 
it  is  the  very  atmosphere 

of  heaven.  I  go  thither  and  return,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  I 
was  made  an  archangel  on  this  very  spot,  it  is  five  years  ago,  by 
angels  sent  from  heaven  to  confer  that  awful  dignity.  Their  presence 
filled  this  place  with  an  intolerable  brightness.      And  they  knelt  to 


His     apprehen- 
were      heightened. 


"  I  WILL   TELL   YOU   A   SECRET." 


252  THE  PRINCE  AND    THE  HERMIT. 

me,  king !  yes,  they  knelt  to  me !  for  I  was  greater  than  they. 
1  have  walked  in  the  courts  of  heaven,  and  held  speech  with  the 
patriarchs.  Touch  my  hand  —  be  not  afraid  —  touch  it.  There  — 
now  thou  hast  touched  a  hand  which  has  been  clasped  by  Abraham, 
and  Isaac  and  Jacob  !  For  I  have  walked  in  the  golden  courts,  I  have 
seen  the  Deity  face  to  face  !  "  He  paused,  to  give  this  speech  effect ; 
then  his  face  suddenly  changed,  and  he  started  to  his  feet  again, 
saying,  with  angry  energy,  "  Yes,  I  am  an  archangel ;  a  mere  arch- 
angel!—  I  that  might  have  been  pope  !  It  is  verily  true.  I  was  told 
it  from  heaven  in  a  dream,  twenty  years  ago ;  ah,  yes,  I  was  to  be 
pope  !  —  and  I  should  have  been  pope,  for  Heaven  had  said  it  —  but 
the  king  dissolved  my  religious  house,  and  I,  poor  obscure  unfriended 
monk,  was  cast  homeless  upon  the  world,  robbed  of  my  mighty  des- 
tiny ! "  Here  he  began  to  mumble  again,  and  beat  his  forehead  in 
futile  rage,  with  his  fist ;  now  and  then  articulating  a  venomous  curse, 
and  now  and  then  a  pathetic  "  Wherefore  I  am  nought  but  an  arch- 
angel—  I  that  should  have  been  pope!" 

So  he  went  on,  for  an  hour,  whilst  the  poor  little  king  sat  and 
suffered.  Then  all  at  once  the  old  man's  frenzy  departed,  and  he 
became  all  gentleness.  His  voice  softened,  he  came  down  out  of  his 
clouds,  and  fell  to  prattling  along  so  simply  and  so  humanly,  that  he 
soon  won  the  king's  heart  completely.  The  old  devotee  moved  the 
boy  nearer  to  the  fire  and  made  him  comfortable ;  doctored  his  small 
bruises  and  abrasions  with  a  deft  and  tender  hand  ;  and  then  set  about 
preparing  and  cooking  a  supper  —  chatting  pleasantly  all  the  time, 
and  occasionally  stroking  the  lad's  cheek  or  patting  his  head,  in  such 
a  gently  caressing  way  that  in  a  little  while  all  the  fear  and  repulsion 
inspired  by  the  archangel  were  changed  to  reverence  and  affection  for 
the  man. 

This  happy  state  of  things  continued  while  the  two  ate  the  supper ; 
then,  after  a  prayer  before  the  shrine,  the  hermit  put  the  boy  to  bed, 


THE  PRINCE   AND    THE  HERMIT. 


253 


in  a  small  adjoining  room,  tucking  him  in  as  snugly  and  lovingly  as 
a  mother  might ;  and  so,  with  a  parting  caress,  left  him  and  sat  down 
by  the  fire,  and  began  to  puke  the  brands  about  in  an  absent  and  aim- 
less way.  Presently  he  paused ;  then  tapped  his  forehead  several 
times  with  his  fingers,  as  if  trying  to 
recall  some  thought  which  had  es- 
caped from  his  mind.  Apparently 
he  w^as  unsu^ 
cessful.  Now  he 
started  quickly 
up,  and  entered 
his  guest's  room, 
and  said  — 

"Thou 
art  king?" 

"  Y  e  s,"  :" 

was      the  ' 

response, 
drowsily 
uttered. 

"  What 
king?" 

"Of 
England." 

"Of 
England! 
Then  Henry  is  gone  !  " 

"  Alack,  it  is  so.     I  am  his  son." 

A  black  frown  settled  down  upon  the  hermit's  face,  and  he 
clenched  his  bony  hands  with  a  vindictive  energy.  He  stood  a  few 
moments,  breathing  fast  and  swallowing  repeatedly,  then  said  in  a 
husky  voice  — 


CHATTING  PLEASANTLY  ALL  THE  TIME.' 


254  THE  PRINCE  AND    THE  HERMIT. 

"  Dost  know  it  was  he  that  turned  us  out  into  the  world  houseless 
and  homeless?" 

There  was  no  response.  The  old  man  bent  down  and  scanned  the 
boy's  reposeful  face  and  listened  to  his  placid  breathing.  "  He  sleeps 
—  sleeps  soundly ;  "  and  the  frown  vanished  away  and  gave  place  to 
an  expression  of  evil  satisfaction.  A  smile  flitted  across  the  dreaming 
boy's  features.  The  hermit  muttered,  "  So  —  his  heart  is  happy ;  " 
and  he  turned  away.  He  went  stealthily  about  the  place,  seeking 
here  and  there  for  something ;  now  and  then  halting  to  listen,  now 
and  then  jerking  his  head  around  and  casting  a  quick  glance  toward 
the  bed ;  and  always  muttering,  always  mumbling  to  himself.  At 
last  he  found  what  he  seemed  to  want  —  a  rusty  old  butcher  knife 
and  a  whetstone.  Then  he  crept  to  his  place  by  the  fire,  sat  himself 
down,  and  began  to  whet  the  knife  softly  on  the  stone,  still  muttering, 
mumbling,  ejaculating.  The  winds  sighed  around  the  lonely  place, 
the  mysterious  voices  of  the  night  floated  by  out  of  the  distances. 
The  shining  eyes  of  venturesome  mice  and  rats  peered  out  at  the  ,old 
man  from  cracks  and  coverts,  but  he  went  on  with  his  work,  rapt 
absorbed,  and  noted  none  of  these  things. 

At  long  intervals  he  drew  his  thumb  along  the  edge  of  his  knife, 
and  nodded  his  head  with  satisfaction.  "  It  grows  sharper,"  he  said ; 
"yes,  it  grows  sharper." 

He  took  no  note  of  the  flight  of  time,  but  worked  tranquilly  on, 
entertaining  himself  with  his  thoughts,  which  broke  out  occasionally 
in  articulate  speech: 

"  His  father  wrought  us  evil,  he  destroyed  us  —  and  is  gone  down 
into  the  eternal  fires !  Yes,  down  into  the  eternal  fires !  He  escaped 
us  —  but  it  was  God's  will,  yes  it  was  God's  will,  we  must  not  repine. 
But  he  hath  not  escaped  the  fires !  no,  he  hath  not  escaped  the 
fires,  the  consuming,  unpitying,  remorseless  fires  —  and  they  are  ever- 
lasting ! " 


THE  PRINCE  AND    TEE  HERMIT. 


255 


And  so  he  wrought ;  and  still  wrought ;  mumbling  —  chuckling  a 
low  rasping  chuckle,  at  times  —  and  at  times  breaking  again  into 
words : 

"  It  was  his   father  that  did  it  all.         ,  i 

I  am  but  an  archangel  —  but  for  him,  I 
should  be  pope  !  " 

The  king  stirred.     The 
hermit  sprang   noiselessly 
to  the   bedside,  and  went 
down     upon     his     knees, 
bending  over  the  prostrate 
form    with    his   knife    up- 
lifted.     The    boy    stirred 
again ;  his  eyes  came  open 
for  an  instant,   but 
there  was  no  specu- 
1  a  t i  o n     in 
them,      they 
saw      noth- 
ing ;       the 
next      m  o- 
m  e  n  t     his 
tranquil 
breathing 
showed  that 
his  sleep  was 
sound     once 
more. 

The  hermit  watched  and  listened,  for  a  time,  keeping  his  position 
and  scarcely  breathing ;  then  he  slowly  lowered  his  arm,  and  presently 
crept  away,  saying,  — 


'dpvEw  his  thumb  along  the  edge." 


256 


THE   PBINCE  AND    THE  HERMIT. 


"  It  is  long  past  midnight  —  it  is  not  best  that  he  should  cry  out, 
lest  by  accident  some  one  be  passing." 

He  glided  about  his  hovel,  gathering  a  rag  here,  a  thong  there, 
and  another  one  yonder ;  then  he  returned,  and  by  careful  and  gentle 
handling,  he  managed  to  tie  the  king's  ankles  together  without  wak- 


"  THE   NEXT   MOMENT   THEY   WERE   BOUND. 


ing  him.  Next  he  essayed  to  tie  the  wrists  ;  he  made  several  attempts 
to  cross  them,  but  the  boy  always  drew  one  hand  or  the  other  away, 
just  as  the  cord  was  ready  to  be  applied ;  but  at  last,  when  the  arch- 
angel was  almost  ready  to  despair,  the  boy  crossed  his  hands  himself, 
and  the  next  moment  they  were  bound.  Now  a  bandage  was  passed 
under  the  sleeper's  chin  and  brought  up  over  his  head  and  tied  fast  — 
and  so  softly,  so  gradually,  and  so  deftly  were  the  knots  drawn  to- 
gether and  compacted,  that  the  boy  slept  peacefully  through  it  all 
without  stirring. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 


HENDON    TO    THE    RESCUE. 


The  old  man  glided  away,  stooping,  stealthy,  cat-like,  and  brought 
the  low  bench.  He  seated  himself  upon  it,  half  his  body  in  the  dim 
and  flickering  light,  and  the  other  half  in  shadow ;  and  so,  with  his 
craving  eyes  bent  upon  the  slumbering  boy,  he  kept  his  patient  vigil 
there,  heedless  of  the  drift  of  time,  and  softly  whetted  his  knife,  and 
mumbled  and  chuckled ;  and  in  aspect  and  attitude  he  resembled 
nothing  so  much  as  a  grizzly,  monstrous  spider,  gloating  over  some 
hapless  insect  that  lay  bound  and  helpless  in  his  web. 

After  a  long  while,  the  old  man,  who  was  still  gazing, — yet  not 
seeing,  his  mind  having  settled  into  a  dreamy  abstraction,  —  observed 
on  a  sudden,  that  the  boy's  eyes  were  open  —  wide  open  and  staring ! 
—  staring  up  in  frozen  horror  at  the  knife.  The  smile  of  a  gratified 
devil  crept  over  the  old  man's  face,  and  he  said,  without  changing  his 
attitude  or  his  occupation  — 

"•Son  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  hast  thou  prayed?" 
The  boy  struggled  helplessly  in  his  bonds ;  and  at  the  same  time 
forced  a  smothered  sound  through  his  closed  jaws,  which  the  hermit 
chose  to  interpret  as  an  affirmative  answer  to  his  question. 
"  Then  pray  again.     Pray  the  prayer  for  the  dying ! " 
A  shudder  shook  the  boy's  frame,  and  his  face   blenched.     Then 
he  struggled  again  to  free  himself  —  turning  and  twisting  himself  this 
way  and  that ;  tugging  frantically,  fiercely,  desperately  —  but  uselessly 

259 


260 


HENDON   TO   THE  RESCUE. 


to  burst  his  fetters:   and  all  the  while  the  old  ogre   smiled   down 

upon  him,  and  nodded  his  head,  and  placidly  whetted  his  knife ; 
mumbling,  from  time  to  time.  "  The  moments  are  precious,  they  are 
few  and  precious — pray  the  prayer  for  the  dying  I" 

The  boy  uttered  a  despairing  groan,  and  ceased  from  his  struggles, 
panting.     The    tears    came,   then,   and   trickled,  one   after  the   other, 


but  this  piteous  sight  wrought  no  softening- 


down   his   face ; 
effect 


savage  old  man. 


The  dawn  was  coming,  now  ;  the  hermit 
observed  it,  and  spoke  up  sharply,  with  a 
touch  of  nervous  apprehension  in  his 
voice  — 

"  I  may  not  indulge  this  ecstasy 

longer  !     The  night  is  already  gone. 

It    seems   but   a   moment  —  only   a 

moment;    would   it  had 

'^ —  ^  -         endured   a   year  !     Seed 

of  the  Church's  spoiler, 

close  thy  perishing  eyes, 

an'  thou  fearest  to  look 

upon  "... 

The  rest  was  lost  in 

inarticulate    mutterings. 

The  old  man  sunk  upon 

his  knees,  his  knife  in  his  hand,  and  bent  himself  over  the  moaning 

boy  — 

Hark!  There  was  a  sound  of  voices  near  the  cabin  —  the  knife 
dropped  from  the  hermit's  hand  ;  he  cast  a  sheepskin  over  the  boy  and 
started  up,  trembling.  The  sounds  increased,  and  presently  the  voices 
became  rough  and  angry  ;  then  came  blows,  and  cries  for  help ;  then 
a  clatter  of  swift  footsteps,  retreating.  Immediately  came  a  succession 
of  thundering  knocks  upon  the  cabin  door,  followed  by  — 


"  HE  SUNK  UPON  HIS  KNEES,  HIS  KNIFE  IN  HAND. 


HENDON   TO    THE   RESCUE.  261 

"  HuUo-oo !  Open  I  And  despatch,  in  the  name  of  all  the 
devils ! " 

O,  this  was  the  blessedest  sound  that  had  ever  made  music  in  the 
king's  ears ;  for  it  was  Miles  Hendon's  voice  I 

The  hermit,  grinding  his  teeth  in  impotent  rage,  moved  swiftly 
out  of  the  bedchamber,  closing  the  door  behind  him  ;  and  straight- 
way the  king  heard  a  talk,  to  this  effect,  proceeding  from  the 
"  chapel : " 

"  Homage  and  greeting,  reverend  sir  !  Where  is  the  boy  —  my 
boy?" 

"  What  boy,  friend  ?  " 

"  What  boy  !  Lie  me  no  lies,  sir  priest,  play  me  no  decep- 
tions !  —  I  am  not  in  the  humor  for  it.  Near  to  this  place  I  caught 
the  scoundrels  who  I  judged  did  steal  him  from  me,  and  I  made 
them  confess  ;  they  said  he  was  at  large  again,  and  they  had  tracked 
him  to  your  door.  They  showed  me  his  very  footprints.  Now  palter 
no  more  ;  for  look  you,  holy  sir,  an'  thou  produce  him  not —  Where 
is  the  boy?" 

"  0,  good  sir,  peradventure  you  mean  the  ragged  regal  vagrant  that 
tarried  here  the  night.  If  such  as  you  take  interest  in  such  as  he, 
know,  then,  that  I  have  sent  him  of  an  errand.  He  will  be  back 
anon." 

"•  How  soon  ?  How  soon  ?  Gome,  waste  not  the  time  —  cannot  I 
overtake  him?     How  soon  will  he  be  back?" 

"  Thou  needst  not  stir ;  he  will  return  quickly." 

"So  be  it  then.  I  will  try  to  wait.  But  stop! — you  sent  him 
of  an  errand?  —  you!  Verily  this  is  a  lie  —  he  would  not  go.  He 
would  pull  thy  old  beard,  an'  thou  didst  offer  him  such  an  insolence. 
Thou  hast  lied,  friend ;  thou  hast  surely  lied !  He  would  not  go  for 
thee  nor  for  any  man." 

"Forany  waw  —  no;  haply  not.     But  I  am  not  a  man." 


262 


HENBON    TO    THE  REtiCUE. 


•"■  What!     Now  o'  God's  name  what  art  thou,  then?" 
"It  is  a  secret  —  mark  thou  reveal  it  not.     I  am  an  arcliangel !  *' 
There   was    a    tremendous    ejacuhition    from    Miles    Hendon  —  not 
altogether  unprofane  —  followed  b_y  — 

"  This  doth  well  and  truly  account  for  his  complaisance  !  Right 
well  I  knew  he  would  budge  nor  hand  nor  foot  in  the  menial  service 
of  any  mortal ;  but  lord*,  even  a  king  must  obey  when  an  archangel 


gives   the   word    o' 

'sh !      What     noise 

All     this    while 


command !      Let   me  — 

was  that?" 

the  little  king  had  been 


"god  mabe  every  ckeatuke  but  you!" 

yonder,  alternately  quaking  with  terror  and  trembling  with  hope ; 
and  all  the  while,  too,  he  had  thrown  all  the  strength  he  could  into 
his  anguished  moanings,  constantly  expecting  them  to  reach  Hendon's 
ear,  but  always  realizing,  with  bitterness,  that  they  failed,  or  at  least 
made  no  impression.  So  this  last  remark  of  his  servant  came  as 
comes  a  reviving  breath  from  fresh  fields  to  the  dying ;  and  he  ex- 
erted himself  once  more,  and  with  all  his  energy,  just  as  the  hermit 
was  saying  — 


HENDON    TO    THE  RESCUE.  263 

'•Noise?     I  heard  only  the  wind." 

"  Mayhap  it  was.  Yes,  doubtless  that  was  it.  I  have  been  hear- 
ing it  faintly  all  the  —  there  it  is  again!  It  is  not  the  wind!  What 
an  odd  sound  !     Come,  we  will  hunt  it  out !  " 

Now  the  king's  joy  was  nearly  insupportable.  His  tired  lungs 
did  their  utmost  —  and  hopefully,  too  —  but  the  sealed  jaws  and  the 
muffling  sheepskin  sadly  crippled  the  effort.  Then  the  poor  fellow's 
heart  sank,  to  hear  the  hermit  say  — 

"Ah,  it  came  from  without  —  I  think  from  the  copse  yonder. 
Come,  I  will  lead  the  way." 

The  king  heard  the  two  pass  out,  talking;  heard  their  footsteps 
die  quickly  away  —  then  he  was  alone  with  a  boding,  brooding,  awful 
silence. 

It  seemed  an  age  till  he  heard  the  steps  and  voices  approaching 
again  —  and  this  time  he  heard  an  added  sound,  —  the  trampling  of 
hoofs,  apparently.     Then  he  heard  Hendon  say  — 

"I  will  not  wait  longer.  I  cannot  wait  longer.  He  has  lost  his 
way  in  this  thick  wood.  Which  direction  took  he?  Quick  —  point 
it  out  to  me." 

"He  —  but  wait;  I  will  go  with  thee." 

"  Good  —  good !  Why,  truly  thou  art  better  than  thy  looks. 
Marry  I  do  think  there's  not  another  archangel  with  so  right  a 
heart  as  thine.  Wilt  ride  ?  Wilt  take  the  wee  donkey  that's  for  my 
boy,  or  wilt  thou  fork  thy  holy  legs  over  this  ill-conditioned  slave  of 
a  mule  that  I  have  provided  for  myself? — and  had  been  cheated  in, 
too,  had  he  cost  but  the  indifferent  sum  of  a  month's  usury  on  a  brass 
farthing  let  to  a  tinker  out  of  work." 

"  No  —  ride  thy  mule,  and  lead  thine  ass  ;  I  am  surer  on  mine  own 
feet,  and  will  walk." 

"  Then  prithee  mind  the  little  beast  for  me  while  I  take  my  life 


264 


HENDON   TO    THE  RESCUE. 


ill  my  hands  and  make  what  success  I  may  toward  mounting  the  big 
one." 

Then  followed  a  confusion  of  kicks,  cuffs,  tramplings  and  plun- 
gings,  accompanied  by  a  thunderous  intermingling  of  volleyed  curses, 
and  finally  a  bitter  apostrophe  to  the  mule,  which  must  have  broken 
its  spirit,  for  hostilities  seemed  to  cease  from  that  moment. 

With  unutterable  misery  the  fettered  little  king  heard  the  voices 

and    footsteps   fade    away   and    die    out. 
All    hope   forsook   him,    now,  for    the 
moment,    and    a    dull    despair    set- 
tled down  upon  his  heart.     "My 
only    friend    is    deceived   and 
got   rid  of,"  he  said ;   "  the 


THE   FETTERED   LITTLE    KING. 


hermit  will  return  and  "  —  He  finished  with  a  gasp  ;  and  at  once  fell 
to  struggling  so  frantically  with  his  bonds  again,  that  he  shook  off 
the  smothering  sheepskin. 

And  now  he  heard  the  door  open  !     The  sound  chilled  him  to  the 
marrow  —  already  he  seemed  to  feel  the  knife  at  his  throat.     Horror 


HEN  DON    TO    THE  RESCUE.  265 

made  him  close  his  eyes  ;  horror  made  him  open  them  again  —  and 
before  him  stood  John  Canty  and  Hugo  ! 

He  would  have  said  "  Thank  God  !  "  if  his  jaws  had  been  free. 

A  moment  or  two  later  his  limbs  were  at  liberty,  and  his  cagtors 
each  gripping  him  by  an  arm,  were  hurrying  him  with  all  speed 
through  the  forest. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


A    VICTIM    OF    TREACHERY. 


Once  more  "  King  Foo-Foo  the  First "  was  roving  with  the  tramps 
and  outlaws,  a  butt  for  their  coarse  jests  and  dull-witted  railleries,  and 
sometimes  the  victim  of  small  spitefulnesses  at  the  hands  of  Canty 
and  Hugo  when  the  Ruffler's  back  was  turned.  None  but  Canty  and 
Hugo  really  disliked  him.  Some  of  the  others  liked  him,  and  all 
admired  his  pluck  and  sjDirit.  During  two  or  three  days,  Hugo,  in 
whose  ward  and  charge  the  king  was,  did  what  he  covertly  could  to 
make  the  boy  uncomfortable ;  and  at  night,  during  the  customarj^ 
orgies,  he  amused  the  company  by  putting  small  indignities  ujjon  him 
—  always  as  if  by  accident.  Twice  he  stepped  upon  the  king's  toes  — 
accidentally  —  and  the  king,  as  became  his  royalty,  was  contemptu- 
ously unconscious  of  it  and  indifferent  to  it ;  but  the  third  time  Hugo 
entertained  himself  in  that  way,  the  king  felled  him  to  the  ground  with 
a  cudgel,  to  the  prodigious  delight  of  the  tribe.  Hugo,  consumed  with 
anger  and  shame,  sprang  up,  seized  a  cudgel,  and  came  at  his  small 
adversary  in  a  fury.  Instantly  a  ring  was  formed  around  the  gladia- 
tors, and  the  betting  and  cheering  began.  But  poor  Hugo  stood  no 
chance  whatever.  His  frantic  and  lubberly  'prentice-work  found  but 
a  poor  market  for  itself  when  pitted  against  an  arm  which  had  been 
trained  by  the  first  masters  of  Europe  in  single-stick,  quarter-staff, 
and  every  art  and  trick  of  swordsmanship.  The  little  king  stood, 
alert  but  at  graceful  ease,  and  caught  and  turned  aside  the  thick  rain 


2()9 


270 


A    VICTIM   OF  TREACHERY. 


of  blows  with  a  facility  and  precision  which  set  the  motley  on-lookers 
wild  with  admiration  ;  and  every  now  and  then,  when  his  practised 
eye  detected  an  opening,  and  a  lightning-swift  rap  upon  Hugo's  head 
followed  as  a  result,  the  storm  of  cheers  and  laughter  that  swept  the 
place  was  something  wonderful  to  hear.     At  the  end  of  fifteen  minutes, 

Hugo,  all  battered, 
bruised,  and  the  tar- 
get for  a  pitiless  bom- 
bardment of  ridicule, 
slunk  from  the  field ; 
and  the  unscathed  hero 
of  the  fight  was  seized 
and  borne  aloft  upon 
the  shoulders  of  the 
jo3'ous  rabble  to  the 
place  of  honor  beside 
the  RufiQer,  where  with 
vast  ceremony  he  was 
crowned  King  of  the 
Game-Cocks ;  his  mean- 
er title  being  at  the 
same  time  solemnly  can- 
celled and  annulled,  and 
a  decree  of  banishment 
from  the  gang  pro- 
nounced against  any  who  should  thenceforth  utter  it. 

All  attempts  to  make  the  king  serviceable  to  the  troop  had  failed. 
He  had  stubbornly  refused  to  act ;  moreover  he  was  always  trying  to 
escape.  He  had  been  thrust  into  an  unwatched  kitchen,  the  first  day 
of  his  return ;  he  not  only  came  forth  empty  handed,  but  tried  to  rouse 
the  housemates.     He  was  sent  out  with  a  tinker  to  help  him  at  his 


HUGO   STOOD   NO   CHANCE.' 


A  'VICTIM   OF   TREACHERY.  271 

work ;  he  would  not  work :  moreover  he  threatened  the  tinker  with 
his  own  soldering-iron  ;  and  finally  both  Hugo  and  the  tinker  found 
their  hands  full  with  the  mere  matter  of  keeping  him  from  getting 
away.  He  delivered  the  thunders  of  his  royalty  upon  the  heads  of  all 
who  hampered  his  liberties  or  tried  to  force  him  to  service.  He  was 
sent  out,  in  Hugo's  charge,  in  company  with  a  slatternly  woman  and 
a  diseased  baby,  to  beg ;  but  the  result  was  not  encouraging  —  he  de- 
clined to  plead  for  the  mendicants,  or  be  a  party  to  their  cause  in  any 
way. 

Thus  several  days  went  by ;  and  the  miseries  of  this  tramping  life, 
and  the  weariness  and  sordidness  and  meanness  and  vulgarity  of  it, 
became  gradually  and  steadily  so  intolerable  to  the  captive  that  he 
began  at  last  to  feel  that  his  release  from  the  hermit's  knife  must 
prove  only  a  temporary  respite  from  death,  at  best. 

But  at  night,  in  his  dreams,  these  things  were  forgotten,  and  he 
was  on  his  throne,  and  master  again.  This,  of  course,  intensified  the 
sufferings  of  the  awakening  —  so  the  mortifications  of  each  succeeding 
morning  of  the  few  that  passed  between  his  return  to  bondage  and  the 
combat  with  Hugo,  grew  bitterer  and  bitterer,  and  harder  and  harder 
to  bear. 

The  morning  after  that  combat,  Hugo  got  up  with  a  heart  filled 
with  vengeful  purposes  against  the  king.  He  had  two  plans,  in  par- 
ticular. One  was  to  inflict  uj^on  the  lad  what  would  be,  to  his  proud 
spirit  and  "  imagined  "  royalty,  a  peculiar  humiliation  ;  and  if  he  failed 
to  accomplish  this,  his  other  plan  was  to  put  a  crime  of  some  kind 
upon  the  king  and  then  betray  him  into  the  implacable  clutches  of 
the  law. 

In  pursuance  of  the  first  plan,  he  purposed  to  put  a  "  clime  "  upon 
the  king's  leg;  rightly  judging  that  that  would  mortify  him  to  the 
last  and  perfect  degree  ;  and  as  soon  as  the  clime  should  operate,  he 
meant  to  get  Canty's  help,  and  force  the  king  to  expose  his  leg  in  the 


272 


A    VICTIM   OF  TREACHERY. 


highway  and  beg  for  alms.  "  Clime  "  was  the  cant  term  for  a  sore, 
artificially  created.  To  make  a  clime,  the  operator  made  a  paste  or 
poultice  of  unslaked  lime,  soap,  and  the  rust  of  old  iron,  and  spread 
it  upon  a  piece  of  leather,  which  was  then  bound  tightly  upon  the  leg. 
This  would  presently  fret  off  the  skin,  and  make  the  flesh  raw  and 


"HUGO  BOUND  THE   POULTICE   TIGHT   AND   FAST."  '  /.'/i 

angry-looking  ;    blood   was  then  rubbed  upon  the 

limb,  which,  being  fully  dried,  took  on  a  dark  and 

repulsive    color.     Then    a   bandage    of   soiled    rags  was    put   on  in  a 

cleverly  careless  way  which  would  allow  the  hideous  ulcer  to  be  seen 

and  move  the  comj^assion  of  the  passer-by.^ 

Hugo  got  the  help  of  the  tinker  whom  the  king  had  cowed  with 
the  soldering-iron ;  they  took  the  boy  out  on  a  tinkering  tramp,  and 
as  soon  as  they  were  out  of  sight  of  the  camjD  they  threw  him  duwji 

1  From  "  Tlu!  English  llogne;"  London,  l(>(i5. 


A    VICTIM   OF   TREACHERY.  273 

and  the  tinker  held  him  while  Hugo  bound  the  poultice  tight  and  fast 
upon  his  leg. 

The  king  raged  and  stormed,  and  promised  to  hang  the  two  tlie 
moment  the  sceptre  ^v'as  in  his  hand  again ;  but  they  kept  a  firm  grip 
upon  him  and  enjoyed  his  impotent  struggling  and  jeered  at  his 
threats.  This  continued  until  the  poultice  began  U)  bite ;  and  in  no 
long  time  its  work  would  have  been  perfected,  if  there  had  been  no 
interruption.  But  there  was ;  for  about  this  time  the  "  slave "  who 
had  made  the  speech  denouncing  England's  laws,  appeared  on  the 
scene  and  put  an  end  to  the  enterprise,  and  stripped  off  the  poultice 
and  bandage. 

The  king  wanted  to  borrow  his  deliverer's  cudgel  and  warm  the 
jackets  of  the  two  rascals  on  the  spot ;  but  the  man  said  no,  it  Avould 
bring  trouble  —  leave  the  matter  till  night ;  the  whole  tribe  being 
together,  then,  the  outside  world  would  not  venture  to  interfere  .or 
interrupt.  He  marched  the  party  back  to  camp  and  reported  the  affair 
to  the  Ruffler,  who  listened,  pondered,  and  then  decided  that  the  king 
should  not  be  again  detailed  to  beg,  since  it  was  plain  he  was  worthy 
of  something  higher  and  better  —  wherefore,  on  the  spot  he  promoted 
him  from  the  mendicant  rank  and  appointed  nim  to  steal ! 

Hugo  was  overjoyed.  He  had  already  tried  to  make  the  king 
steal,  and  failed  ;  but  there  would  be  no  more  trouble  of  that  sort, 
now,  for  of  course  the  king  would  not  dream  of  defying  a  distinct 
command  delivered  directly  from  headquarters.  So  he  planned  a  raid 
for  that  very  afternoon,  purposing  to  get  the  king  in  the  law's  grip  in 
the  course  of  it ;  and  to  do  it,  too,  with  such  ingenious  strategy,  that 
it  should  seem  to  be  accidental  and  unintentional ;  for  the  King  of  the 
Game-Cocks  was  ]iopular,  now,  and  the  gang  luight  not  deal  over- 
gently  with  an  unpopular  member  who  played  so  serious  a  treachery 
upon  him  as  the  delivering  him  over  to  the  common  enemy,  the  law. 

Very  well.     All  in  good  time  Hugo  strolled  off  to  a  neighboring 


274 


A    VICTIM  OF  TREACHERY. 


village  with  his  prey  ;  and  the  two  drifted  slowly  up  and  down  one 
street  after  another,  the   one  watching   sharply  for  a  sure  chance  to 
achieve  his  evil   purpose,   and   the   other  watching   as    sharply  for  a 
chance  to  dart  away  and  get  free  of  his  infamous  captivity  forever. 
Both   threw    away  some    tolerably  fair-looking   opportunities ;    for 

both,  in  their  secret  hearts,  were  resolved 
to  make  absolutel}^  sure  work  this  time, 
and  neither  meant  to  allow  his  fevered 
desnes  to  seduce  him  into  any  venture 
that  had   much  un- 


■\_. 


TAUKY  HEKE  TILL   1    C'OMK  AGAIN. 


certainty  about  it. 

Hugo's  chance 
came  first.  For  at 
last  a  woman  ap- 
proached who  car- 
ried a  fat  package 
of  some"  sort  in  a 
basket.  Hugo's  eyes 
sparkled  with  sinful 
pleasure  as  he  said 
to  himself,  "  Breath 
o'  my  life,  an'  I  can  but  put  that  upon 
hnn,  'ti-s  good-den  and  God  keep  thee, 
King  of  the  Game-Cocks  !  "  He  waited 
and  watched  —  outwardly  patient,  but 
inwardly  consuming  Avith  excitement  — 
till  the  woman  had  passed  by,  and  the 
time  was  ripe  ;  then  said,  in  a  low  voice  — 
again,"   and   darted  stealthily  after  the 


"  Tarry   here   till  I  come 
prey. 

The  king's  heart  was  filled  with  joy  —  he  could  make  his   escape, 
now,  if  Hugo's  quest  only  carried  him  far  enough  away. 


A    VICTIM   OF  TREACHERY.  275 

But  he  was  to  have  no  such  luck.  Hugo  crept  behind  the  woman, 
snatched  the  package,  and  came  running  back,  wrapping  it  in  an  old 
piece  of  blanket  which  he  carried  on  his  arm.  Tlie  liue  and  cry  was 
raised  in  a  moment,  by  the  woman,  who  knew  her  loss  by  the  light- 
ening of  her  burden,  although  she  had  not  seen  the  pilfering  done. 
Hugo  thrust  the  bundle  into  the  king's  hands  without  halting, 
saying,  — 

"Now  speed  ye  after  me  with  the  rest,  and  cr}'  'Stop  thief!'  but 
mind  ye  lead  them  astray  I  " 

The  next  moment  Hugo  turned  a  corner  and  darted  down  a 
crooked  alley,  —  and  in  another  moment  or  two  he  lounged  into  view 
again,  looking  innocent  and  indifferent,  and  took  up  a  position  behind 
a  post  to  watch  results. 

The  insulted  king  threw  the  bundle  on  the  ground ;  and  the 
blanket  fell  away  from  it  just  as  the  woman  arrived,  with  an  aug- 
menting crowd  at  her  heels ;  she  seized  the  king's  wrist  with  one 
hand,  snatched  up  her  bundle  with  the  other,  and  began  to  pour  out 
a  tirade  of  abuse  upon  the  bo}^  while  he  struggled,  without  success, 
to  free  himself  from  her  grip. 

Hugo  had  seen  enough  —  his  enemy  was  captured  and  the  law 
would  get  him,  now  —  so  he  slipped  away,  jubilant  and  chuckling, 
and  wended  camp  wards,  framing  a  judicious  version  of  the  matter  to 
give  to  the  Ruffler's  crew  as  he  strode  along. 

The  king  continued  to  struggle  in  the  woman's  strong  grasp,  and 
now  and  then  cried  out,  in  vexation  — 

"  Unhand  me,  thou  foolish  creature ;  it  was  not  I  that  bereaved 
thee  of  thy  paltry  goods." 

The  crowd  closed  around,  threatening  the  king  and  calling  him 
names;  a  brawny  blacksmith  in  leather  apron,  and  sleeves  rolled  to 
his  elbows,  made  a  reach  for  him,  saying  he  would  trounce  him  well, 
for  a  lesson ;  but  just  then  a  long  sword  flashed  in  the  air  and  fell 


276 


A    VICTIM   OF   TREACHERY. 


with  convincing  force  upon  the  man's  arm,  flat-side  down,  the  fantastic 
owner  of  it  remarking  pleasantly  at  the  same  time  — 

"  Marry,  good  souls,  let  us  proceed  gently,  not  with  ill  Wood  and 


THE    KING   SPRANG    TO    HIS   DKLIVEREK'S    SIDE." 


uncharitable  words.  This  is  matter  for  the  law's  consideration,  not 
private  and  unofficial  handling.  Loose  thy  hold  from  the  bo3%  good- 
wife." 

The  blacksmith  averaged  the  stalwart  soldier  with  a  glance,  then 
went  muttering  away,  rubbing  his  arm ;  the  woman  released  the  boy's 


A    VICTIM   OF   TREACHERY.  277 

wrist  reluctantly ;  the  crowd  eyed  the  stranger  iinlovingly,  but  pru- 
dently closed  their  mouths.  The  king  sprang  to  his  deliverer's  side. 
with  flushed  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes,  exclaiming  — 

"  Thou  hast  lagged  sorely,  but  thou  comest  in  good  season,  now. 
Sir  Miles ;  carve  me  this  rabble  to  rags ! " 


CHAPTER    XXIII 


THE    PRINCE    A    PRISONER. 


Hendon  forced  back  a  smile,  and  bent  down  and  whispered  in  the 
king's  ear  — 

"  Softly,  softly,  my  prince,  wag  thy  tongue  warily  —  nay,  suffer  it 
not  to  wag  at  all.  Trust  in  me  —  all  shall  go  well  in  the  end."  Then 
he  added,  to  himself:  ''Sir  Miles!  Bless  me,  I  had  totally  forgot  I 
was  a  knight!  Lord  how  marvellous  a  thing  it  is,  the  grip  his 
memory  doth  take  upon  his  quaint  and  craz}^  fancies !  .  .  .  An  empty 
and  foolish  title  is  mine,  and  yet  it  is  something  to  have  deserved  it, 
for  I  think  it  is  more  honor  to  be  held  worthy  to  be  a  spectre-knight 
in  his  Kingdom  of  Dreams  and  Shadows,  than  to  be  held  base  enough 
to  be  an  earl  in  some  of  the  real  kingdoms  of  this  world." 

The  crowd  fell  apart  to  admit  a  constable,  who  approached  and 
was  about  to  lay  his  hand  upon  the  king's  shoulder,  when  Hendon 
said  — 

''Gently,  good  friend,  withhold  your  hand  —  he  shall  go  peaceably; 
I  am  responsible  for  that.     Lead  on,  we  will  follow." 

The  officer  led,  with  the  woman  and  her  bundle ;  Miles  and  the 
king  followed  after,  with  the  crowd  at  their  heels.  The  King  was 
inclined  to  rebel ;   but  Hendon  said  to  him  in  a  low  voice  — 

"Reflect,  sire  —  your  laws  are  the  wholesome  breath  of  your  own 
royalty :  shall  their  source  resist  them,  yet  require  the  branches  to 
respect  them  ?     Apparently  one  of  these  laws  has  been  broken  ;  when 

281 


282 


THE   PRINCE  A    PRISONER. 


the  king  is  on  his  throne  again,  can  it  ever  grieve  him  to  remember 
that  when  he  was  seemingly  a  private  person  he  loyally  sunk  the 
king  in  the  citizen  and  submitted  to  its  authority?" 

"  Thou  art  right ;   say  no   more ;   thou   shalt  see   that  whatsoever 

the  king  of  England 
requires  a  subject  to 
suffer  under  the  law, 
he  will  himself  suffer 
while  he  holdeth  the 
station  of  a  subject." 
When  the  woman 
was  called  upon  to 
testify  before  the  jus- 
tice of  the  peace,  she 
swore  that  the  small ' 
prisoner  at  the  bar 
was  the  person  who 
had  committed  the 
theft;  there  was  none 
able  to  show  the  con- 
trary, so  the  king- 
stood  convicted.  The 
bundle  was  now  un- 
rolled, and  when  the 
contents  proved  to  be 
a  plump  little  dressed 
pig,  the  judge  looked 
troubled,  whilst  Hendon  turned  pale,  and  his  body  was  thrilled  with 
an  electric  shiver  of  dismay ;  but  the  king  remained  unmoved,  pro- 
tected by  his  ignorance.  The  judge  meditated,  during  an  ominous 
pause,  then  turned  to  the  woman,  with  the  question  — 


"gently,  good  fkienu. 


THE  PRINCE  A    PRISONER.  283 

"What  dost  thou  hold  this  property  to  be  worth?" 

The  woman  courtesied  and  replied  — 

"  Three  shillings  and  eightpence,  your  worship  —  I  could  not  abate 
a  penny  and  set  forth  the  value  honestly." 

The  justice  glanced  around  uncomfortably  upon  the  crowd,  then 
nodded  to  the  constable  and  said  — 

"  Clear  the  court  and  close  the  doors." 

It  was  done.  None  remained  but  the  two  officials,  the  accused, 
the  accuser,  and  JNIiles  Hendon.  This  latter  was  rigid  and  colorless, 
and  on  his  forehead  big  drops  of  cold  sweat  gathered,  broke  and 
blended  together,  and  trickled  down  his  face.  The  judge  turned  to 
the  woman  again,  and  said,  in  a  compassionate  voice  — 

"  'Tis  a  poor  ignorant  lad,  and  mayhap  was  driven  hard  by  hunger, 
for  these  be  grievous  times  for  the  unfortunate  ;  mark  you,  he  hath 
not  an  evil  face  —  but  when  hunger  driveth  —  Good  woman !  dost 
know  that  when  one  steals  a  thing  above  the  value  of  thirteen  pence 
ha'penny  the  law  saith  he  shall  hang  for  it !  " 

The  little  king  started,  wide-eyed  with  consternation,  but  con- 
trolled himself  and  held  his  peace  ;  but  not  so  the  woman.  She  sprang 
to  her  feet,  shaking  with  fright,  and  cried  out  — 

"  O,  good  lack,  what  have  I  done  !  God-a-mercy,  I  would  not  hang 
the  poor  thing  for  the  whole  world !  Ah,  save  me  from  this,  your 
worship  —  what  shall  I  do,  what  can  I  do?" 

The  justice  maintained  his  judicial  composure,  and  simply  said  — 

"  Doubtless  it  is  allowable  to  revise  the  value,  since  it  is  not  yet 
writ  upon  the  record."  , 

"  Then  in  God's  name  call  the  pig  eightpence,  and  heaven  bless 
the  day  that  freed  my  conscience  of  this  awesome  thing  ! " 

Miles  Hendon  forgot  all  decorum  in  his  delight ;  and  surprised  the 
king  and  wounded  his  dignity,  by  throwing  his  arms  around  him  and 
hugging  him.     The  woman  made  her  grateful  adieux  and  started  away 


284 


THE  PRINCE  A    PRISONER. 


with  her  pig;  and  when  the  constable  opened  the  door  for  her,  he 
followed  her  out  into  the  narrow  hall.  The  justice  proceeded  to  write 
in  his  record  book.  Hendon,  always  alert,  thought  he  would  like  to 
know  why  the  officer  followed  the  woman  out ;    so  he  slipped  softly 


into  the  dusky  hall  and  listened. 
He  heard  a  conversation  to  this 
effect  — 

''It  is  a  fat  pig,  and  promises 
good  eating ;  I  will  buy  it  of  thee ; 
here  is  the  eightpence." 

"  Eightpence,     indeed  !       Thou'lt 

do  no  such  thing.     It  cost  me  three 

shillings   and   eightpence,  good   honest   coin  of  the    last    reign,  that 

old  Harry  that's  just  dead  ne'er  touched  nor  tampered  with.     A  fig 

for  thy  eightpence  !  " 

"  Stands  the  wind  in  that  quarter  ?     Thou  wast  under  oath,  and  so 


SHE   SPKANG   TO   HEK  FEET." 


THE  PRINCE  A    PRISONER.  285 

swore  falsely  when  thou  saidst  the  value  was  but  eightpence.  Come 
straightway  back  with  me  before  his  worship,  and  answer  for  the 
crime!  —  and  then  the  lad  will  hang." 

"  There,  there,  dear  heart,  say  no  more,  I  am  content.     Give  me 
the  eightpence,  and  hold  thy  peace  about  the  matter." 

The  woman  went  off  crying ;  Hendon  slipped  back  into  the  court 
room,  and  the  constable  presently  followed,  after  hiding  his  prize  in 
some  convenient  place.  The  justice  wrote  a  while  longer,  then  read 
the  king  a  wise  and  kindly  lecture,  and  sentenced  him  to  a  short 
imprisonment  in  the  common  jail,  to  be  followed  by  a  public  flogging. 
The  astounded  king  opened  his  mouth  and  was  probably  going  to 
order  the  good  judge  to  be  beheaded  on  the  spot ;  but  he  caught  a 
warning  sign  from  Hendon,  and  succeeded  in  closing  his  mouth  again 
before  he  lost  any  thing  out  of  it.  Hendon  took  him  by  the  hand, 
now,  made  reverence  to  the  justice,  and  the  two  departed  in  the  wake 
of  the  constable  toward  the  jail.  The  moment  the  street  was  reached, 
the  inflamed  monarch  halted,  snatched  away  his  hand,  and  exclaimed  — 
"  Idiot,  dost  imagine  I  will  enter  a  common  jail  alive  ? " 
Hendon  bent  down  and  said,  somewhat  sharply  — 
"  Will  you  trust  in  me  ?  Peace !  and  forbear  to  worsen  our 
chances  with  dangerous  speech.  What  God  wills,  will  happen  ;  thou 
canst  not  hurry  it,  thou  canst  not  alter  it ;  therefore  wait,  and  be 
patient  —  'twill  be  time  enow  to  rail  or  rejoice  when  what  is  to 
happen  has  happened."  ^ 

1  See  Notes  to  Chapter  23,  at  end  of  volume. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 


THE   ESCAPE. 


The  short  winter  day  was  nearly  ended.  The  streets  were 
deserted,  save  for  a  few  random  stragglers,  and  these  hurried  straight 
along,  with  the  intent  look  of  people  who  were  only  anxious  to  accom- 
plish their  errands  as  quickly  as  possible  and  then  snugly  house  them- 
selves from  the  rising  wind  and  the  gathering  twilight.  They  looked 
neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left ;  they  paid  no  attention  to  our 
party,  they  did  not  even  seem  to  see  them.  Edward  the  Sixth  won- 
dered if  the  spectacle  of  a  king  on  his  wa}^  to  jail  had  ever  encountered 
such  marvellous  indifference  before.  By  and  b}^  the  constable  arrived 
at  a  deserted  market-square  and  proceeded  to  cross  it.  When  he 
had  reached  the  middle  of  it,  Hendon  laid  his  hand  upon  his  arm,  and 
said  in  a  low  voice  — 

"Bide  a  moment,  good  sir,  there  is  none  in  hearing,  and  I  would 
say  a  word  to  thee." 

"  My  duty  forbids  it,  sir :  prithee  hinder  me  not,  the  night 
comes  on." 

"  Stay,  nevertheless,  for  the  matter  concerns  thee  nearly.  Turn 
thy  back  a  moment  and  seem  not  to  see  :  let  this  poor  lad  escape.''^ 

"This  to  me,  sir!     I  arrest  thee  in"  — 

"  Nay,  be  not  too  hasty.  See  thou  be  careful  and  commit  no 
foolish  error "  —  then  he  shut  his  voice  down  to  a  whisper,  and  said 

289 


290 


THE  ESCAPE, 


in  the  man's  ear  —  "  the  pig  thou  hast  purchased  for  eightpence  may 
cost  thee  thy  neck,  man  ! '" 

The  poor  constable,  taken  by  surprise,  was  speechless,  at  first,  then 

found  his  tongue  and  fell  to  blustering  and  threatening ;  but  Hendon  was 

tranquil,  and  waited  with  patience  till  his  breath  was  spent;  then  said  — 

"  I  have  a  liking  to  thee,  friend,  and  would  not  willingly  see  thee 

come  to  harm.  Ob- 
serve, I  heard  it  all  — 
every  word,  I  will 
prove  it  to  thee."  Then 
he  repeated  the  conver- 
sation which  the  officer 
and  the  woman  had  had 
together  in  the  hall, 
word  for  word,  and 
ended  with  — 

"  There  —  have  I  set 
it    forth     correctly? 
'    Should    not   I   be    able 
to  set  it  forth  correctly 
before  the  judge,  if  oc- 
casion required  ?  " 
The  man  was  dumb  with  fear  and  distress,  for  a  moment ;  then  he 
rallied  and  said  with  forced  lightness  — 

"  'Tis  making  a  mighty  matter  indeed,  out  of  a  jest ;  I  but  plagued 
the  woman  for  mine  amusement." 

"Kept  you  the  woman's  pig  I'di-  amusement?" 
The  man  answered  sharply  — 

"  Nought  else,  good  sir  —  I  tell  thee  'twas  but  a  jest." 
"  I  do  begin  to  believe  thee,"  said  Hendon,  with  a  perplexing  mix- 
ture of  mockery  and  half-conviction  in  his  tone ;  ''  but  tarry  thou  here 


"the  pig  may  cost  thy  neck,  man." 


THE  ESCAPE.  291 

a  moment  whilst  I  run  and  ask  his  worship  —  for  nathless,  he  being  a 
man  experienced  in  hiw,  in  jests,  in  "  — 

He  was  moving  away,  still  talking ;  the  constable  hesitated, 
fidgetted,  spat  out  an  oath  or  two,  then  cried  out  — 

"Hold,  hold,  good  sir  —  prithee  wait  a  little  —  the  judge  I  whv 
man,  he  hath  no  more  sympathy  with  a  jest  than  hath  a  dead  corpse  I 
—  come,  and  we  will  speak  further.  Ods  body  !  I  seem  to  be  in  evil 
case  —  and  all  for  an  innocent  and  thoughtless  pleasantry.  I  am  a 
man  of  family;  and  my  wife  and  little  ones —  List  to  reason,  good 
your  worship  :  what  wouldst  thou  of  me  ?  " 

"•  Only  that  thou  be  blind  an|^  dumb  and  paralytic  whilst  one  may 
count  a  hundred  thousand  —  counting  slowly,"  said  Hendon,  with  the 
expression  of  a  man  who  asks  but  a  reasonable  favor,  and  that  a  very 
little  one. 

"It  is  my  destruction  !  "'  said  the  constable  despairingly.  "Ah.  be 
reasonable,  good  sir ;  only  look  at  this  matter,  on  all  its  sides,  and  see 
how  mere  a  jest  it  is  —  how  manifestly  and  how  plainl}^  it  is  so.  And 
even  if  one  granted  it  were  not  a  jest,  it  is  a  fault  so  small  that  e'en 
the  grimmest  penalty  it  could  call  forth  would  be  but  a  rebuke  and 
warning  from  the  judge's  lips." 

Hendon  replied  with  a  solemnity  which  chilled  the  air  about  him  — 

"  This  jest  of  thine  hath  a  name,  in  law,  —  wot  you  what  it  is  ?  " 

"  I  knew  it  not !  Peradventure  I  have  been  unwise.  I  never 
dreamed  it  had  a  name  —  ah,  sweet  heaven,  I  thought  it  was  original." 

"  Yes,  it  hath  a  name.  In  the  law  this  crime  is  called  Noii  conqjos 
mentis  lex  talionis  sic  transit  gloria  Mundiy 

"  Ah,  my  God  !  " 

"And  the  penalty  is  death!" 

"  God  be  merciful  to  me,  a  sinner ! " 

"  By  advantage  taken  of  one  in  fault,  in  dire  peril,  and  at  thy 
mercy,  thou  hast  seized  goods  worth  above  thirteen  pence  ha'penny, 


292 


THE  ESCAPE. 


pa}dng  but  a  trifle  for  the  same ;   and  this,  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  is 

constructive  barratry,  misprision  of  treason, 
malfeasance  in  office,  ad  hominem  expurgatis 
in  statu  quo  —  and  the 
penalty  is  death  by  the 
halter,  without  ransom, 
commutation,  or  benefit 
of  clergy." 

"Bear  me  up,  bear' 
me  up,  sweet  sir,  my 
legs  do  fail  me !  Be 
thou  merciful  —  spare 
me  this  doom,  and  I  will 
turn  my  back  and  see 
nought  that  shall  hap- 
pen." 

"  Good  !  now  thou'rt 
wise  and  reasonable. 
And  thou'lt  restore  the 
pig?" 

"  I  will,  I  will  in- 
deed—  nor  ever  touch 
another,  though  heaven 
send    it    and    an    arch- 

"BEAI4   MK   UP,    BEAU   MK    Ul>,    SWKKT   Siu!"  aUgcl    fctch     it.        Go I 

am  blind  for  thy  sake  — 
I  see  nothing.  I  Avill  say  thou  didst  break  in  and  wrest  the  prisoner 
from  my  hands  by  force.  It  is  but  a  crazy,  ancient  door  —  I  will 
batter  it  down  myself  betwixt  midnight  and  the  morning." 

"  Do  it,  good  soul,  no  harm  will  come  of  it :  the  judge  hath  a  loving 
charity  for  this  poor  lad,  and  will  shed  no  tears  and  break  no  jailer's 
bones  for  his  escape." 


CHAPTER    XXV 


HENDON    HALL. 


As  soon  as  Henclon  and  the  king  were  out  of  sight  of  the  con- 
stable, his  majesty  was  instructed  to  hurry  to  a  certain  place  outside 
the  town,  and  wait  there,  whilst  Hendon  should  go  to  the  inn  and 
settle  his  account.  Half  an  hour  later  the  two  friends  were  blithely 
jogging  eastward  on  Henclon's  sorry  steeds.  The  king  was  warm  and 
comfortable,  now,  for  he  had  cast  his  rags  and  clothed  himself  in  the 
second-hand  suit  which  Hendon  had  bought  on  London  Bridge. 

Hendon  wished  to  guard  against  over-fatiguing  the  boy ;  he  judged 
that  hard  journeys,  irregular  meals,  and  illiberal  measures  of  sleep 
would  be  bad  for  his  crazed  mind ;  whilst  rest,  regularity,  and  moder- 
ate exercise  would  be  pretty  sure  to  hasten  its  cure ;  he  longed  to 
see  the  stricken  intellect  made  well  again  and  its  diseased  visions 
driven  out  of  the  tormented  little  head ;  therefore  he  resolved  to  move 
by  easy  stages  toward  the  home  whence  he  had  so  long  been  banished, 
instead  of  obeying  the  impulse  of  his  impatience  and  hurrying  along 
night  and  day. 

When  he  and  the  king  had  journeyed  about  ten  miles,  they 
reached  a  considerable  village,  and  halted  there  for  the  night,  at  a 
good  inn.  The  former  relations  were  resumed ;  Hendon  stood  behind 
the  king's  chair,  while  he  dined,  and  waited  upon  him ;  undressed  him 
when  he  was  ready  for  bed ;  then  took  the  floor  for  his  own  quarters, 
and  slept  athwart  the  door,  rolled  up  in  a  blanket. 

295 


296 


HEN  DON  HALL. 


The  next  day,  and  the  day  after,  they  jogged  lazily  along  talking 
over  the  adventures  they  had  met  since  their  separation,  and  mightily 
enjoying  each  other's  narratives.  Hendon  detailed  all  his  wide  wan- 
derings in  search  of  the  king,  and  described  how  the  archangel  had 
led  him  a  fool's  journey  all  over  the  forest,  and  taken  him  back  to  the 
hut,  finally,  when  he  found  he  could 
not  get  rid 


JOGGING   EASTWAKD   ON   SOBRY  STEEDS." 


—  the  old  man  went  into  the  bedchamber  and  came  staggering  back 
looking  broken-hearted,  and  saying  he  had  expected  to  find  that  the 
boy  had  returned  and  lain  down  in  there  to  rest,  but  it  was  not  so. 
Hendon  had  waited  at  the  hut  all  day ;  hope  of  the  king's  return  died 
out,  then,  and  he  departed  upon  the  quest  again. 


HENBON   HALL. 


297 


"  And  old  Sanctum  Sanctorum  was  truly  sorry  your  highness  came 
not  back,"  said  Hendon ;  "  I  saw  it  in  his  face." 

"Marry  I  will  never  doubt  that!''''  said  the  King — and  then  told 
his  own  story ;  after  which,  Hendon  was  sorry  he  had  not  destroyed 
the  archangel. 

During  the  last  day  of  the  trip,  Hendon's  spirits  were  soaring. 
His  tongue  ran  constantly.     He  talked  about 

his  old  father,     ^^^        ^^H^^  ^^^  ^^^^  bi'other  Arthur,  and 

told  of  many  ''^*^Mijy,\M^^P%j.  things  which  illustrated  their 
high    and  gen-  l^-i^'    '^1^    erous    characters ;    he    went 


'  THERE   IS   THE   VILLAGE,    MY   PRINCE !  " 


into  loving  frenzies  over  his  Edith,  and  was  so  gladhearted  that  he  was 
even  able  to  say  some  gentle  and  brotherly  things  about  Hugh.  He 
dwelt  a  deal  on  the  coming  meeting  at  Hendon  Hall :  what  a  surprise 
it  would  be  to  everybody,  and  what  an  outburst  of  thanksgiving  and 
delioht  there  would  be. 


298  HEN  DON  HALL. 

It  was  a  fair  region,  dotted  with  cottages  and  orchards,  and  the 
road  led  through  broad  pasture  lands  whose  receding  expanses,  marked 
with  gentle  elevations  and  depressions,  suggested  the  swelling  and 
subsiding  undulations  of  the  sea.  In  the  afternoon  the  returning 
prodigal  made  constant  deflections  from  his  course  to  see  if  by  ascend- 
ing some  hillock  he  might  not  pierce  the  distance  and  catch  a  glimpse 
of  his  home.     At  last  he  was  successful,  and  cried  out  excitedly  — 

"  There  is  the  village,  my  prince,  and  there  is  the  Hall  close  by ! 
You  may  see  the  towers  from  here  :  and  that  wood  there  —  that  is  my 
father's  park.  Ah,  7iow  thou'lt  know  what  state  and  grandeur  be ! 
A  house  with  seventy  rooms  —  think  of  that!  —  and  seven  and  twenty 
servants  !  A  brave  lodging  for  such  as  we,  is  it  not  so  ?  Come,  let  us 
speed  —  my  impatience  will  not  brook  further  delay." 

All  possible  hurry  was  made  ;  still,  it  was  after  three  o'clock  before 
the  village  was  reached.  The  travellers  scampered  through  it,  Hen- 
don's  tongue  going  all  the  time.  "Here  is  the  church  —  covered 
with  the  same  ivy  —  none  gone,  none  added."  "Yonder  is  the  inn, 
the  old  Red  Lion,  —  and  yonder  is  the  marketplace."  "Here  is  the 
Maypole,  and  here  the  pump  —  nothing  is  altered  ;  nothing  but  the 
people,  at  any  rate  ;  ten  years  make  a  change  in  people ;  some  of 
these  I  seem  to  know,  but  none  know  me."  So  his  chat  ran  on. 
The  end  of  the  village  was  soon  reached;  then  the  travellers  struck 
into  a  crooked,  narrow  road,  walled  in  with  tall  hedges,  and  hurried 
briskly  along  it  for  a  half  mile,  then  passed  into  a  vast  flower  garden 
through  an  imposing  gateway  whose  huge  stone  pillars  bore  sculp- 
tured armorial  devices.     A  noble  mansion  was  before  them. 

"  Welcome  to  Hendon  Hall,  my  king !  "  exclaimed  Miles.  "  Ali, 
'tis  a  great  day !  My  father  and  my  brother,  and  the  lady  Edith 
will  be  so  mad  with  joy  that  they  will  have  eyes  and  tongue  for  none 
but  me  in  the  first  transjjorts  of  the  meeting,  and  so  thou'lt  seem  but 
coldly  welcomed  —  but  n>ind   it  not;  'twill  soon  seem  otherwise;  for 


HENDON  HALL. 


299 


when  I  say  thou  art  my  ward,  and  tell  them  how  costly  is  my  love  for 
thee,  thon'lt  see  them  take  thee  to  their  breasts  for  Miles  Hendon's 
sake,  and  make  their  house  and  hearts  thy  home  forever  after ! " 

The  next  moment  Hendon  sprang  to  the  ground  before  the  great 
door,  helped  the  king  down,  then  took  him  by  the  hand  and  rushed 
within.  A  few  steps 
brought  him  to  a  spa- 
cious apartment;  he  en- 
tered, seated  the  king 
with    more    hurry    than 


EMBRACE   ME,    HUGH,'    HE   CRIED. 


ceremony,  then  ran  toward  a  young  man  who  sat  at  a  writing  table 
in  front  of  a  generous  fire  of  logs. 

"  Embrace  me,  Hugh,"  he  cried,  "  and  say  thou'rt  glad  I  am  come 
again !  and  call  our  father,  for  home  is  not  home  till  I  shall  touch  his 
hand,  and  see  his  face,  and  hear  his  voice  once  more !  " 

But  Hugh  only  drew  back,  after  betraying  a  momentary  surprise, 
and  bent  a  grave  stare  upon  the  intruder  —  a  stare  which  indicated 
somewhat  of  offended  dignity,  at  first,  then  changed,  in  response  to 
some  inward  thought  or  purpose,  to  an  expression  of  marvelling  curi- 


300  BENBON  HALL. 

osity,  mixed  with  a  real  or  assumed  compassion.  Presently  he  said, 
in  a  mild  voice  — 

"  Th}^  wits  seem  touched,  poor  stranger ;  doubtless  thou  hast  suf- 
fered privations  and  rude  buffe tings  at  the  world's  hands  ;  thy  looks 
and  dress  betoken  it.     Whom  dost  thou  take  me  to  be  ? '" 

"  Take  thee  ?  Prithee  for  whom  else  than  whom  thou  art  ?  I  take 
thee  to  be  Hugh  Hendon,"  said  Miles,  sharply. 

The  other  continued,  in  the  same  soft  tone  — 

"  And  whom  dost  thou  imagine  thyself  to  be  ?  " 

"  Imagination  hath  nought  to  do  with  it  I  Dost  thou  pretend  thou 
knowest  me  not  for  thy  brother  Miles  Hendon  ? "" 

An  expression  of  pleased  surprise  flitted  across  Hugh's  face,  and 
he  exclaimed  — 

"•  What !  thou  art  not  jesting  ?  can  the  dead  come  to  life  ?  God  be 
praised  if  it  be  so  !  Our  poor  lost  boy  restored  to  our  arms  after  all 
these  cruel  years  !  Ah,  it  seems  too  good  to  be  true,  it  is  too  good 
to  be  true  —  I  charge  thee,  have  pity,  do  not  trifle  with  me  !  Quick  — 
come  to  the  light  —  let  me  scan  thee  well!" 

He  seized  Miles  by  the  arm,  dragged  him  to  the  window,  and  began 
to  devour  him  from  head  to  foot  with  his  eyes,  turning  him  this  way 
and  that,  and  stepj^ing  briskly  around  him  and  about  him  to  prove 
him  from  all  points  of  view  ;  whilst  the  returned  prodigal,  all  aglow 
with  gladness,  smiled,  laughed,  and  kept  nodding  his  head  and 
saying  — 

"  Go  on,  brother,  go  on,  and  fear  not ;  thou'lt  find  nor  limb  nor 
feature  that  cannot  bide  the  test.  Scour  and  scan  me  to  thy  content, 
my  good  old  Hugh  —  I  am  indeed  thy  old  Miles,  thy  same  old  Miles, 
thy  lost  brother,  is't  not  so  ?  Ah,  'tis  a  great  day  —  I  said  'twas  a 
great  day  !  Give  me  thy  hand,  give  me  thy  cheek  —  lord,  I  am  like  to 
die  of  very  joy  !  " 

He  was  about  to  throw  himself  upon  his  brother ;  but  Hugh  put 


HENDON  HALL. 


301 


up  his  hand  in  dissent,  then  dropped  his  chin  mournfully  upon  his 
breast,  saying  with  emotion  — 

"  Ah,  God  of  his  mercy  give  me  strength  to  bear  this  grievous 
disappointment !  " 

Miles,  amazed,  could  not  speak,  for  a  moment ;  then  he  found  his 
tongue,  and  cried  out  — 


"JJUGH   PUT   UP   HIS   HAND   IN   DISSENT." 


"  What  disappointment  ?     Am  I  not  thy  brother  ?  " 

Hugh  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  said  — 

"  I  pray  heaven  it  may  prove  so,  and  that  other  eyes  may  find  the 
resemblances  that  are  hid  from  mine.  Alack,  I  fear  me  the  letter 
spoke  but  too  truly." 

"  What  letter  ?  " 

"  One  that  came  from  over  sea,  some  six  or  seven  years  ago.  It 
said  mv  brother  died  in  battle." 


302  HENDON  HALL. 

m 

"  It  was  a  lie  !     Call  thy  father  —  he  will  know  me." 

"  One  may  not  call  the  dead.'* 

"Dead?"  Miles's  voice  was  subdued,  and  his  lips  trembled.  "  My 
father  dead !  —  O,  this  is  heavy  news.  Half  my  new  joy  is  withered 
now.  Prithee  let  me  see  my  brother  Arthur  —  he  will  know  me;  he 
will  know  me  and  console  me." 

"  He,  also,  is  dead." 

"-  God  be  merciful  to  me,  a  stricken  man  !  Gone,  —  both  gone  — 
the  worthy  taken  and  the  worthless  spared,  in  me  !  Ah !  I  crave  your 
mercy  !  —  do  not  say  the  lady  Edith  "  — 

"  Is  dead  ?     No,  she  lives." 

^  Then,  God  be  praised,  my  joy  is  whole  again !  Speed  thee, 
brother  —  let  her  come  to  me  !  An'  she  say  I  am  not  myself,  —  but 
she  will  not ;  no,  no,  she  will  know  me,  I  were  a  fool  to  doubt  it. 
Bring  her  —  bring  the  old  servants  ;  they,  too,  will  know  me." 

"  All  are  gone  but  five  —  Peter,  Halsey,  David,  Bernard  and 
Margaret." 

So  saying,  Hugh  left  the  room.  Miles  stood  musing,  a  while,  then 
began  to  walk  the  floor,  muttering  — 

"  The  five  arch  villains  have  survived  the  two-and-twenty  leal  and 
honest  —  'tis  an  odd  thing." 

He  continued  walking  back  and  forth,  muttering  to  himself;  lie 
had  forgotten  the  king  entirely.  By  and  by  his  majesty  said  gravely, 
and  with  a  touch  of  genuine  compassion,  though  the  words  themselves 
were  capable  of  being  interpreted  ironically  — 

"  Mind  not  thy  mischance,  good  man  ;  there  be  others  in  the  world 
whose  identity  is  denied,  and  whose  claims  are  derided.  Thou  hast 
company." 

"  Ah,  my  king,"  cried  Hendon,  coloring  slightly,  "  do  not  thou 
condemn  me  —  wait,  and  thou  shalt  see.  I  am  no  impostor  —  she 
will  say  it ;  you  shall  hetir  it  from  the  sweetest  lips  in  England,     I  an 


HENDON  HALL. 


303 


impostor  ?  Why  I  know  this  ohl  hall,  these  pictures  of  my  ancestors, 
and  all  these  things  that  are  about  us,  as  a  child  knoweth  its  own 
nursery.  Here  was  I  born  and  bred,  my  lord ;  I  speak  the  truth ;  I 
would  not  deceive  thee ;  and  should  none  else  believe,  I  pray  thee  do 
not  thou  doubt  me  —  I  could  not  bear  it." 


"  A   BEAUTIFUL   LADY,    RICHLY   CLOTHED,    FOLLOWED   HUGH. 


"  I  do  not  doubt  thee,"  said  the  king,  with  a  childlike  simplicity 
and  faith. 

"I  thank  thee  out  of  my  heart!"  exclaimed  Hendon,  with  a 
fervency  which  showed  that  he  was  touched.  The  king  added,  with 
the  same  gentle  simplicity  — 

"  Dost  thou  doubt  me  ?  " 

A  guilty  confusion  seized  upon  Hendon,  and  he  was  grateful  that 


304  HEX  DON  HALL. 

the  door  opened  to  admit  Hugh,  at  that  moment,  and  saved  hmi  the 
necessity  of  replying. 

A  beautiful  lady,  richly  clothed,  followed  Hugh,  and  after  her  came 
several  liveried  servants.  The  lady  walked  slowly,  with  her  head 
bowed  and  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor.  The  face  was  unspeakably 
sad.     Miles  Hen  don  sprang  forward,  crying  out  — 

"  O,  my  Edith,  my  darling  "  — 

But  Hugh  waved  him  back,  gravely,  and  said  to  the  lady  — 

"  Look  upon  liim.     Do  3'ou  know  him  ?  *' 

At  the  sound  of  Miles's  voice  the  woman  had  started,  slightly,  and 
her  clieeks  had  flushed ;  she  was  trembling,  now.  She  stood  still, 
during  an  impressive  pause  of  several  moments ;  then  slowly  lifted 
up  her  head  and  looked  into  Hendon's  eyes  with  a  stony  and  fright- 
ened gaze ;  the  blood  sank  out  of  her  face,  drop  by  droj),  till  nothing 
remained  but  the  gray  pallor  of  death;  then  she  said,  in  a  voice  as 
dead  as  the  face,  "  I  know  him  not !  "  and  turned,  with  a  moan  and  a 
stifled  sob,  and  tottered  out  of  the  room. 

Miles  Hendon  sank  into  a  chair  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands.     After  a  pause,  his  brother  said  to  the  servants  — 

"  You  have  observed  him.     Do  you  know  him?  " 

They  shook  their  heads  ;  then  the  master  said  — 

"  The  servants  know  you  not,  sir.  I  fear  there  is  some  mistake. 
You  liave  seen  that  my  wife  knew  you  not.'" 

"  Thy  tvife  !  "  In  an  instant  Hugh  was  })inned  to  the  wall,  with  an 
iron  grip  about  his  throat.  "  O,  thou  fox-hearted  slave,  I  see  it  all ! 
Thou'st  writ  the  lying  letter  thyself,  and  my  stolen  bride  and  goods 
are  its  fruit.  There  —  now  get  thee  gone,  lest  I  shame  mine  honorable 
soldiership  with  the  slaying  of  so  pitiful  a  manikin  !  '" 

Hugh,  red-faced;  and  almost  suffocated,  reeled  to  the  nearest  chair, 

and  commanded  the  servants  to  seize  and  bind  the  murderous  stranc^er. 

They  hesitated,  and  one  of  them  said  — 

« 
"  He  is  armed.  Sir  Hugh,  and  we  are  weaponless." 


HENBON  HALL. 


305 


'^  Armed?     What  of  it,  and  ye  so  many  ?     Upon  him,  I  say  !  " 
But  Miles  warned  them  to  be  careful  what  they  did,  and  added  — 
"■  Ye  know  me  of  old  —  I  have  not  changed ;  come  on,  an'  it  like 

you." 

This  reminder  did  not  hearten  the  servants  much  ;  they  still  held 

back. 

"  Then  go,  ye  paltry  cowards,  and  arm  yourselves  and  guard  the 

doors,    whilst   I    send   one    to  fetch     the     watch  ;  "      said 

Hugh.      He    turned,    at     the        fy^        threshold,  and  said  to  Miles, 


"HUGH  WAS   PINNED   TO   THE   WALL." 


"  You'll  find  it  to  your  advantage  to  offend  not  with  useless  endeavors 
at  escape." 

'^  Escape  ?     Spare  thyself  discomfort,  an'  that'  is  all  that  troubles 
thee.    For  Miles  Hendon  is  master  of  Hendon  Hall  and  all  its  belong- 


ings.    He  will  remain  — doubt  it  not." 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 


DISOWNED. 


The  king  sat  musing  a  few  moments,  then  looked  up  and  said  — 

"  'Tis  strange  —  most  strange.     I  cannot  account  for  it." 

"  No,  it  is  not  strange,  my  liege.  I  know  him,  and  this  conduct  is 
but  natural.     He  was  a  rascal  from  his  birth." 

"  O.^  I  spake  not  of  him.  Sir  Miles." 

"  Not  of  him  ?     Then  of  what  ?     What  is  it  that  is  strange  ?  " 

"  That  the  king  is  not  missed." 
,"How?     Which?     I  doubt  I  do  not  understand." 

"  Indeed  ?  Doth  it  not  strike  you  as  being  passing  strange  that  the 
land  is  not  filled  with  couriers  and  proclamations  describing  my  person 
and  making  search  for  me  ?  Is  it  no  matter  for  commotion  and  dis- 
tress that  the  head  of  the  State  is  gone  ?  —  that  I  am  vanished  away 
and  lost?" 

"Most  true,  my  king,  I  had  forgot."  Then  Hendon  sighed,  and 
muttered  to  himself,  "•  Poor  ruined  mind  —  still  busy  with  its  pathetic 
dream." 

"But  I  have  a  plan  that  shall  right  us  both.  I  will  write  a  paper, 
in  three  tongues  —  Latin,  Greek  and  English  —  and  thou  shalt  haste 
away  with  it  to  London  in  the  morning.  Give  it  to  none  but  my 
"uncle,  the  lord  Hertford ;  when  he  shall  see  it,  he  will  know  and  say 
I  wrote  it.     Then  he  will  send  for  me." 

"  Might  it  not  be  best,  my  prince,  that  we  wait,  here,  until  I  prove 

309 


310 


DISOWNED. 


myself   and  make  my  rights  secure  to  my  domains?     I  should  be  so 
much  the  better  able  then  to  "  — 

The  king  interrupted  him  imperiously  — 

"  Peace !     What  are  thy  paltry  domains,  thy  trivial  interests,  con- 
trasted with  matters   which  concern  the 
weal  of  a  nation  and  the  inte< 
a  throne  !  "     Then  he  added, 
gentle  voice,  as  if  he  were  son 


"  OBEY,    AND   HAVE   NO   FEAR." 


for  his  severity,  "  Obey,  and  have  no  fear ;  I  will  right  thee,  I  will 
make  thee  whole  —  yes,  more  than  whole.  I  shall  remember,  and 
requite." 

So  saying,  he  took  the  pen,  and  set  himself  to  work.  Hendon 
contemplated  him  lovingly,  a  while,  then  said  to  himself — 

"  An'  it  were  dark,  I  should  think  it  tvas  a  king  that  spoke ;  there's 


DISOWNED.  311 

no  denying  it,  when  the  humor's  upon  him  he  doth  thunder  and  lighten 
like  your  true  king  —  now  where  got  he  that  trick?  See  him  scribble 
and  scratch  away  contentedly  at  his  meaningless  pot-hooks,  fancying 
them  to  be  Latin  and  Greek  —  and  except  my  wit  shall  serve  me  with 
a  lucky  device  for  diverting  him  from  his  purpose,  I  shall  be  forced  to 
pretend  to  post  away  to-morrow  on  this  wild  errand  he  hath  invented 
for  me." 

The  next  moment  Sir  Miles's  thoughts  had  gone  back  to  the  recent 
ej)isode.  So  absorbed  was  he  in  his  musings,  that  when  the  king  pres- 
ently handed  him  the  paper  which  he  had  been  writing,  he  received  it 
and  pocketed  it  without  being  conscious  of  the  act.  "  How  marvel- 
lous strange  she  acted,"  he  muttered.  "  I  think  she  knew  me  —  and  I 
think  she  did  not  know  me.  These  opinions  do  conflict,  I  perceive  it 
plainly;  I  cannot  reconcile  them,  neither  can  I,  by  argument,  dismiss 
either  of  the  two,  or  even  persuade  one  to  outweigh  the  other.  The 
matter  standeth  simply  thus :  she  7nust  have  known  my  face,  my  figure, 
my  voice,  for  how  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  yet  she  said  she  knew  me 
not,  and  that  is  proof  perfect,  for  she  cannot  lie.  But  stop  —  I  think 
I  begin  to  see.  Peradventure  he  hath  influenced  her  —  commanded 
her  —  compelled  her,  to  lie.  That  is  the  solution!  The  riddle  is 
unriddled.  She  seemed  dead  with  fear  —  yes,  she  Avas  under  his  com- 
pulsion. I  will  seek  her ;  I  will  find  her ;  now  that  he  is  away,  she 
will  speak  her  true  mind.  She  will  remember  the  old  times  when  we 
were  little  playfellows  together,  and  this  will  soften  her  heart,  and  she 
will  no  more  betray  me,  but  will  confess  me.  There  is  no  treacherous 
blood  in  her  —  no,  she  was  always  honest  and  true.  She  has  loved  me, 
in  those  old  days — this  is  my  security;  for  whom  one  has  loved,  one 
cannot  betray." 

He  stepped  eagerly  toward  the  door ;  at  that  moment  it  opened, 
and  the  lady  Edith  entered.  She  was  very  pale,  but  she  walked  with 
a  fi'rm  step,  and  her  carriage  was  full  of  grace  and  gentle  dignity. 
Her  face  was  as  sad  as  before. 


312  DISOWNED. 

Miles  sprang  forwarrl,  Math  a  happy  confidence,  to  meet  lier,  but 
she  checked  him  with  a  hardly  perceptible  gesture,  and  he  stopped 
where  he  was.  She  seated  herself,  and  asked  him  to  do  likewise. 
Thus  simpl}^  did  she  take  the  sense  of  old-comradeship  out  of  liim,  and 
transform  him  into  a  stranger  and  a  guest.  The  surprise  of  it,  the 
bewildering  unexpectedness  of  it,  made  him  begin  to  question,  for  a 
moment,  if  lie  ivas  the  person  he  was  pretending  to  be,  after  all.  The 
lady  Edith  said  — 

"Sir,  I  have  come  to  warn  you.  The  mad  cannot  be  persuaded 
out  of  their  delusions,  perchance ;  but  doubtless  they  may  be  per- 
suaded to  avoid  perils.  I  think  this  dream  of  yours  hath  the  seeming 
of  honest  truth  to  you,  and  therefore  is  not  criminal  —  but  do  not 
tarry  here  with  it ;  for  here  it  is  dangerous."  She  looked  steadily  into 
Miles's  face,  a  moment,  then  added,  impressively,  "  It  is  the  more 
dangerous  for  that  you  are  much  like  what  our  lost  lad  must  have 
grown  to  be,  if  he  had  lived." 

"  Heavens,  madam,  but  I  am  he ! " 

"  I  truly  think  you  think  it,  sir.  I  question  not  your  honesty  in 
that  —  I  but  warn  you,  that  is  all.  My  husband  is  master  in  tliis 
region  ;  his  power  hath  hardly  any  limit ;  the  people  prosper  or  starve, 
as  he  wills.  If  3'ou  resembled  not  the  man  whom  you  profess  to  be, 
my  husband  might  bid  you  pleasure  yourself  with  your  dream  in 
peace ;  but  trust  me,  I  know  him  well,  I  know  what  he  will  do ;  he 
will  say  to  all,  that  yovi  are  but  a  mad  imi)ostor,  and  straightway  all 
will  echo  him."  She  bent  upon  Miles  that  same  steady  look  once 
more,  and  added:  "If  you  were  Miles  Hendon,  and  he  knew  it  and  all 
the  region  knew  it  —  consider  what  I  am  saying,  weigh  it  well  —  you 
would  stand  in  the  same  peril,  your  ])unishment  would  be  no  less  sure ; 
he  would  deny  you  and  denounce  you,  and  none  would  be  bold  enough 
to  give  you  countenance." 

"Most  truly  I  believe  it,"  said  Miles,  bitterly.     "The  power  that 


DISOWNED. 


313 


can  command  one  life-long  friend  to  betray  and  disown  another,  and 
be  obeyed,  may  well  look  to  be  obeyed  in   quarters  where  bread  and 

life  are  on  the  stake  and  no  cobweb  ties 
of  loyalty  and  honor  are  concerned." 

A  faint  tinge  appeared  for  a  moment 

_      ^  in  the  lady's  cheek,  and  she 

dropped    her    eyes    to    the 

floor ;    but    her    voice    be- 


AM  I   MILES   HENDON  ?  " 


trayed  no  emotion  when  she  proceeded  — 

"  I  have  warned  you,  I  must  still  warn  you,  to  go  hence.  This 
man  will  destroy  you,  else.  He  is  a  tyrant  who  knows  no  pity.  I, 
who  am  his  fettered  slave,  know  this.  Poor  Miles,  and  Arthur,  and 
my  dear  guardian.  Sir  Richard,  are  free  of  him,  and  at  rest  — better 
that  you  were  with  them  than  that  you  bide  here  in  the  clutches  of 


314  DISOWNED. 

this  miscreant.  Your  pretensions  are  a  menace  to  his  title  and  pos- 
sessions ;  you  have  assaulted  him  in  his  own  house  —  you  are  ruined 
if  you  stay.  Go  —  do  not  hesitate.  If  you  lack  money,  take  this 
purse,  I  beg  of  you,  and  bribe  the  servants  to  let  you  pass.  O  be 
warned,  poor  soul,  and  escape  while  you  may." 

Miles  declined  the  purse  with  a  gesture,  and  rose  up  and  stood 
before  her. 

"  Grant  me  one  thing,"  he  said.  "  Let  your  eyes  rest  upon  mine, 
so  that  I  may  see  if  they  be  steady.  There  —  now  ansAver  me.  Am 
I  Miles  Hendon?" 

"No.     I  know  you  not." 

"Swear  it!" 

The  answer  was  low,  but  distinct  — 

"I  swear." 

"  O,  this  passes  belief!" 

"  Fly !  Why  will  3'ou  waste  the  precious  time  ?  Fly,  and  save 
yourself." 

At  that  moment  the  officers  burst  into  the  room  and  a  violent 
struggle  began ;  but  Hendon  was  soon  overpowered  and  dragged  away. 
The  king  was  taken,  also,  and  both  were  bound,  and  led  to  prison. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 


IN  PRISON. 


The  cells  were  all  crowded ;  so  the  two  friends  were  chained  in  a 
large  room  where  persons  charged  with  trifling  offences  were  commonly 
kept.  They  had  company,  for  there  were  some  twenty  manacled  and 
fettered  prisoners  here,  of  both  sexes  and  of  varying  ages,  —  an  obscene 
and  noisy  gang.  The  king  chafed  bitterly  over  the  stupendous  indig- 
nity thus  put  upon  his  royalty,  but  Hendon  was  moody  and  taciturn. 
He  was  pretty  thoroughly  bewildered.  He  had  come  home,  a  jubilant 
prodigal,  expecting  to  find  everybody  wild  with  joy  over  his  return ; 
and  instead  had  got  the  ccld  shoulder  and  a  jail.  The  promise  and  the 
fulfilment  differed  so  widely,  that  the  effect  was  stunning;  he  could 
not  decide  whether  it  was  most  tragic  or  most  grotesque.  He  felt 
much  as  a  man  might  who  had  danced  blithely  out  to  enjoy  a  rainbow, 
and  got  struck  by  lightning. 

But  gradually  his  confused^nd  tormenting  tlioughts  settled  down 
into  some  sort  of  order,  and  then  his  mind  centred  itself  upon  Edith. 
He  turned  her  conduct  over,  and  examined  it  in  all  lights,  but  he  could 
not  make  any  thing  satisfactory  out  of  it.  Did  she  know  him  ?  —  or 
didn't  she  know  him  ?  It  was  a  perplexing  puzzle,  and  occupied  him  a 
long  time  ;  but  he  ended,  finally,  with  the  conviction  that  she  did  know 
him,  and  had  repudiated  him  for  interested  reasons.  He  wanted  to 
load  her  name  with  curses  now  ;  but  this  name  had  so  long  been  sacred 
to  him  that  he  found  he  could  not  bring  his  tongue  to  profane  it. 

317 


318 


TN  PRTSON. 


Wrapped  in  prison  blankets  of  a  soiled  and  tattered  coi\dition,  Hen- 
don  and  the  king  passed  a  troubled  night.  For  a  bribe  the  jailer  had 
furnished  liquor  to  some  of  the  prisoners  ;  singing  of  ribald  songs,  fight- 
ing, shouting,  and  carousing,  was  the  natural  consequence.  At  last,  a 
while  after  midnight,  a  man  attacked  a  woman  and  nearly  killed  her  by 

beating  her  over  the  head 
with  his  manacles  before  the 
jailei  could  come  to  the  res- 
cue. The  jailer 
restored  peace 
by  giving  the 
man  a  sound 
clubbing  about 
the  head  and 
shoulders  — 
then  the  ca- 
rousing ceased ; 
and  after  that, 
all  had  an  op- 
portunity to 
sleep  who  did 
not  mind  the 
annoyance  of  the  moanings  and  groanin^s  of  the  two  wounded  people. 

During  the  ensuing  week,  the  days  and  nights  were  of  a  monoto- 
nous sameness,  as  to  events ;  men  whose  faces  Hendon  remembered 
more  or  less  distinctly,  came,  by  day,  to  gaze  at  the  "  impostor  "  and 
repudiate  and  insult  him ;  and  by  night  the  carousing  and  brawling 
went  on,  with  symmetrical  regularity.  However,  there  was  a  change  of 
incident  at  last.  The  jailer  brought  in  an  old  man,  and  said  to  him  — 
"  The  villain  is  in  this  room  —  cast  thy  old  eyes  about  and  see  if 
thou  canst  say  which  is  he." 


CHAINED  IN   A  LARGE 
KOOM." 


IN  PRISON.  319 

Hendon  glanced  up,  and  experienced  a  pleasant  sensation  for  tlie 
first  time  since  he  had  been  in  the  jail.  He  said  to  himself,  "This  is 
Blake  Andrews,  a  servant  all  his  life  in  my  father's  family  —  a  good 
honest  soul,  with  a  right  heart  in  his  breast.  That  is,  formerly.  But 
none  are  true,  now  ;  all  are  liars.  This  man  will  know  me  —  and  will 
deny  me,  too,  like  the  rest.'' 

The  old  man  gazed  around  the  room,  glanced  at  each  face  in  turn, 
and  finally  said  — 

'*  I  see  none  here  but  paltry  knaves,  scum  o'  the  streets.  Which 
is  he  ?  " 

The  jailer  laughed. 

"  Here,"  he  said ;  "  scan  this  big  animal,  and  grant  me  an  opinion." 

The  old  man  approached,  and  looked  Hendon  over,  long  and  ear- 
nestly, then  shook  his  head  and  said  — 

"Marry,  tJiis  is  no  Hendon  —  nor  ever  was!" 

"  Right !  Thj^  old  eyes  are  sound  yet.  An'  I  were  Sir  Hugh,  I 
would  take  the  shabby  carle  and  "  — 

The  jailer  finished  by  lifting  himself  a-tip-toe  with  an  imaginary 
halter,  at  the  same  time  making  a  gurgling  noise  in  his  throat  sugges- 
tive of  suffocation.     The  old  man  said,  vindictively  — 

"  Let  him  bless  God  an'  he  fare  no  worse.  An'  /  had  the  handling 
o'  the  villain,  he  should  roast,  or  I  am  no  true  man  I  " 

The  jailer  laughed  a  pleasant  hyena  laugh,  and  said  — 

"  Give  him  a  piece  of  thy  mind,  old  man  —  they  all  do  it.  Thou'lt 
find  it  good  diversion." 

Then  he  sauntered  toward  his  ante-room  and  disappeared.  The  old 
man  dropped  upon  his  knees  and  whispered  — 

"  God  be  thanked,  thou'rt  come  again,  my  master !  I  believed  thou 
wert  dead  these  seven  years,  and  lo,  here  thou  art  alive  !  I  knew  thee 
the  moment  I  saw  thee ;  and  main  hard  work  it  was  to  keep  a  stony 
countenance  and  seem  to  see  none  here  but  tuppenny  knaves  and  rub- 


320 


IN  PRISON. 


bish  o'  the  streets.  I  am  old  and  poor,  Sir  Miles  ;  but  say  the  word 
and  I  will  go  forth  and  proclaim  the  truth  though  1  be  strangled 
for  it." 

"  No,"  said  Hendon ;  "  thou  shalt  not.     It  would  ruin  thee,  and  yet 


"thk  old  man  looked  hendon  ovek." 


help  but  little  in  my  cause.     But  I  thank  thee  ;  for  thou  hast  given  me 
back  somewhat  of  my  lost  faith  in  my  kind." 

The  old  servant  became  very  valuable  to  Hendon  and  the  king ;  for 
he  dropped  in  several  times  a  day  to  "abuse"  the  former,  and  always 
smuggled  in  a  few  delicacies  to  help  out  the  prison  bill  of  fare  ;  he  also 


IN  prison: 


321 


furnished  the  current  news.  Hendon  reserved  the  dainties  for  the 
king ;  without  them  his  majesty  might  not  have  survived,  for  he  was 
not  able  to  eat  the  coarse  and  wretched  food  provided  by  the  jailer. 
Andrews  was  obliged  to  confine  himself  to  brief  visits,  in  order  to  avoid 
suspicion ;  but  he  managed  to  impart  a  fair  degree  of  information  each 
time  —  information  delivered  in  a  low  voice, 
for  Hendon's  benefit,  and  mteilaided  ^\lth 
insulting  epithets  de- 
livered in  a  louder 
voice,  for  the  benefit 
of  other  hearers. 

So,  little  by  little, 
the  story  of  the  family 
came  out,  Arthur  had 
been  dead  six  years. 
This  loss,  with  the 
absence  of  news  from 
Hendon,  impaired  the 
father's  health ;  he  be- 
lieved he  was  going  to 
die,  and  he  wished  to 

see  Hugh  and  Edith  settled  in  life  before  he  passed  awaj' ;  but  Edith 
begged  hard  for  delay,  hoping  for  Miles's  return :  then  the  letter 
came  which  brought  the  news  of  Miles's  death ;  the  shock  prostrated 
Sir  Richard ;  he  believed  his  end  was  very  near,  and  he  and  Hugh 
insisted  upon  the  marriage ;  Edith  begged  for  and  obtained  a  month's 
respite  ;  then  another,  ■  and  finally  a  third ;  the  marriage  then  took 
place,  by  the  death-bed  of  Sir  Richard.  It  ]iad  not  proved  a  happy 
one.  It  was  whispered  about  the  country  that  shortly  after  the  nup- 
tials the  bride  found  among  her  husband's  papers  several  rough  and 
incomplete  drafts  of  the    fatal    letter,   and    had   accused  him  of  pre- 


"  INFOKMATION    DELIVKRED   IN    A   LOW    VOICE." 


322  IN  PRISON. 

cipitating  the  marriage  —  and  Sir  Richard's  death,  too  —  by  a  wicked 
forgery.  Tales  of  cruelty  to  the  lady  Edith  and  the  servants  were  to 
be  heard  on  all  hands;  and  since  the  father's  death  Sir  Hugh  had 
thrown  off  all  soft  disguises  and  become  a  pitiless  master  toward  all 
who  in  any  way  depended  upon  him  and  his  domains  for  bread. 

There  was  a  bit  of  Andrews's  gossip  which  the  king  listened  to 
with  a  lively  interest  — 

"  There  is  rumor  that  the  kiug  is  mad.  But  in  charity  forbear 
to  say  /  mentioned  it,  for  'tis  death  to  speak  of  it,  they  say." 

His  majesty  glared  at  the  old  man  and  said  — 

"  The  king  is  not  mad,  good  man  —  and  thou'lt  find  it  to  thy 
advantage  to  busy  thyself  with  matters  that  nearer  concern  thee  than 
this  seditious  prattle." 

"  What  doth  the  lad  mean  ?  "  said  Andrews,  surprised  at  this  brisk 
assault  from  such  an  unexpected  quarter.  Hendon  gave  him  a  sign, 
and  he  did  not  pursue  his  question,  but  went  on  with  his  budget  — 

"The  late  king  is  to  be  buried  at  Windsor  in  a  da}''  or  two  — 
the  16th  of  the  month, — and  the  new  king  will  be  crowned  at  West- 
minster the  20th." 

"  Methinks  they  must  needs  find  him  first,"  muttered  his  majesty ; 
then  added,  confidently,  "but  they  will  look  to  that  —  and  so  also 
shall  I." 

"In  the  name  of"  — 

But  the  old  man  got  no  further  —  a  warning  sign  from  Hendon 
checked  his  remark.     He  resumed  the  thread  of  his  gossip  — 

"  Sir  Hugh  goeth  to  the  coronation  —  and  with  grand  hopes.  He 
confidently  looketh  to  come  back  a  peer,  for  he  is  high  in  favor  with 
the  Lord  Protector." 

"What  Lord  Protector?"  asked  his  majesty. 

"  His  grace  the  Duke  of  Somerset." 

"What  Duke  of  Somerset?" 


IN   PEISON. 


323 


"  Marry,  there  is  but  one  —  Seymour,  earl  of  Hertford." 

The  king  asked,  sharply  — 

"Since  when  is  he  a  duke,  and  Lord  Protector?" 

"  Since  the  last  day  of  January." 

"And  prithee  who  made  him  so?" 

"  Himself  and  the  Great  Council  —  with  help  of  the  king." 

His   majesty  started  violently.     "The    king!""   he    cried.     '•''What 
king,  good  sir?" 

"  What  king,  indeed!  (God-a-mercy,  what  aileth  the  boy?)  Sith 
we  have  but  one,  'tis  not  difficult  to  an- 
swer—  his  most  sacred  majesty  King  Ed- 
ward the  Sixth 
—  whom  God 
preserve !  Yea, 
and  a  dear  and 
gracious  little 
urchin  is  he, 
too;  and 
whether  he  be 
mad  or  no  — 
and  they  say 
he  m e n d e t h 
daily  —  his 
praises  are  on 
all  men's  lips ; 
and  all  bless   him,  likewise,  and   offer  prayers 

that  he  may  be  spared  to  reign  long  in  England :  for  he  began  hu- 
manely, with  saving  the  old  duke  of  Norfolk's  life,  and  now  is  he  bent 
on  destroying  the  crudest  of  the  laws  that  harry  and  oppress  the 
people." 

This  news  struck  his  majesty  dumb  with  amazement,  and  plunged 


THE   KLNG  !  "    HE   CRIED 
KING  ?  " 


324  IN  PRISON. 

him  into  so  deep  and  dismal  a  revery  that  he  heard  no  more  of  the  old 
man's  gossip.  He  wondered  if  the  "  little  urchin  "  was  the  beggar-boy 
whom  he  left  dressed  in  his  own  garments  in  the  palace.  It  did  not 
seem  possible  that  this  could  be,  for  surely  his  manners  and  speech 
would  betray  him  if  he  pretended  to  be  the  prince  of  Wales  —  then 
he  would  be  driven  out,  and  search  made  for  the  true  prince.  Could 
it  be  that  the  Court  had  set  up  some  sprig  of  the  nobility  in  his  place  ? 
No,  for  his  uncle  would  not  allow  that  —  he  was  all-powerful  and  could 
and  would  crush  such  a  movement,  of  course.  The  boy's  musings 
profited  him  nothing ;  the  more  he  tried  to  unriddle  the  mystery  the 
more  perplexed  he  became,  the  more  his  head  ached,  and  the  worse  he 
slept.  His  impatience  to  get  to  London  grew  hourly,  and  his  captivity 
became  almost  unendurable.  , 

Hendon's  arts  all  failed  with  the  king  —  he  covild  not  be  comforted , 
but  a  couple  of  women  who  were  chained  near  him,  succeeded  better. 
Under  their  gentle  ministrations  he  found  peace  and  learned  a  degree 
of  patience.  He  was  very  grateful,  and  came  to  love  them  dearly  and 
to  delight  in  the  sweet  and  soothing  influence  of  their  presence.  He 
asked  them  why  they  were  in  prison,  and  when  they  said  they  were 
Baptists,  he  smiled,  and  inquired  — 

"  Is  that  a  crime  to  be  shut  up  for,  in  a  prison  ?  Now  I  grieve,  for 
I  shall  lose  ye  —  they  will  not  keep  ye  long  for  such  a  little  thing." 

They  did  not  answer ;  and  something  in  their  faces  made  him 
uneasy.     He  said,  eagerly  — 

"You  do  not  speak  —  be  good  to  me,  and  tell  me  —  there  will  be 
no  other  punishment?     Prithee  tell  me  there  is  no  fear  of  that." 

They  tried  to  change  the  topic,  but  his  fears  were  aroused,  and  he 
pursued  it  — 

"  Will  they  scourge  thee  ?  No,  no,  they  would  not  be  so  cruel ! 
Say  they  would  not.     Come,  they  will  not,  will  they?" 

The   women   betrayed    confusion    and    distress,   but    there  was    no 


IN   PRISON.  325 

avoiding  an  answer,  so  one  of  them  said,  in  a  voice  choked  with 
emotion  — 

"  O,  thou'lt  break  our  hearts,  thou  gentle  spirit !  —  God  will  lielp 
us  to  bear  our  '*  — 

"  It  is  a  confession  ! '"  the  king  broke  in.  "  Then  they  will  scourge 
thee,  the  stonyhearted  wretches !  But  O,  thou  must  not  weep,  I  can- 
not bear  it.  Keep  up  thy  courage  —  I  shall  come  to  my  own  in  time 
to  save  thee  from  this  bitter  thing,  and  I  will  do  it ! " 

When  the  king  awoke  in  the  morning,  the  women  were  gone. 

"  They  are  saved !  "  he  said,  joyfully ;  then  added,  despondently, 
"but  woe  is  me!  —  for  they  were  my  comforters." 

Each  of  them  had  left  a  shred  of  ribbon  pinned  to  his  clothing,  in 
token  of  remembrance.  He  said  he  would  keep  these  things  always; 
and  that  soon  he  would  seek  out  these  dear  good  friends  of  his  and 
take  them  under  his  protection. 

Just  then  the  jailer  came  in  with  some  subordinates  and  com- 
manded that  the  prisoners  be  conducted  to  the  jail-yard.  The  king 
was  overjoyed  —  it  would  be  a  blessed  thing  to  see  the  blue  sky  and 
breathe  the  fresh  air  once  more.  He  fretted  and  chafed  at  the  slow- 
ness of  the  officers,  but  his  turn  came  at  last  and  he  was  released  from 
his  staple  and  ordered  to  follow  the  other  prisoners,  with  Hendon. 

The  court  or  quadrangle,  was  stone-paved,  and  open  to  the  sky. 
The  prisoners  entered  it  through  a  massive  archway  of  masonry,  and 
were  placed  in  file,  standing,  with  their  backs  against  the  wall.  A 
rope  was  stretched  in  front  of  them,  and  they  were  also  guarded  by 
their  officers.  It  was  a  chill  and  lowering  morning,  and  a  light  snow 
wliich  had  fallen  during  the  night  whitened  the  great  empty  space 
and  added  to  the  general  dismalness  of  its  aspect.  Now  and  then  a 
wintry  wind  shivered  through  the  place  and  sent  the  snow  eddying 
hither  and  thither. 

In  the  centre  of  the  court  stood  two  women,  cliained  to  posts.     A 


326 


IN  PRISON. 


glance  showed  the  king  that  these  were  his  good  friends.  He  shud- 
dered, and  said  to  himself,  "  Alack,  they  are  not  gone  free,  as  I  had 
thought.  To  think  that  such  as  these  should  know  the  lash!  —  in 
England!     Ay    there's   the    shame    of    it  —  not   in   Heathenesse,   but 

Christian  England  !  They  will 
be  scourged ;  and  I.  whom  they 
have  comforted  and  kindly  en- 
treated, must  look  on  and  see 
the  great  wrong  done ,  it  is 
strange,  so  strange !  that  I,  the 
very  source  of  power  in  this 
broad  realm,  am  helpless  to  pro- 
tect them.  But  let  these  mis- 
creants look  well  to  themselves, 
for  there  is  a  day  coming  wlien 
I  will  require  of  them  a  heav}'^ 
reckoning  for  this  work.  For 
every  blow  they  strike  now, 
they  shall  feel  a  hundred, 
then." 

A  great  gate  swung  open 
and  a  crowd  of  citizens  poured 
in.  They  flocked  around  the 
two  women,  and  hid  them  from 
the  king's  view.  A  clergyman 
entered  and  passed  through  the  crowd,  and  he  also  was  hidden.  The 
king  now  heard  talking,  back  and  forth,  as  if  questions  Avere  being 
asked  and  answered,  but  lie  could  not  make  out  what  was  said.  Next 
there  was  a  deal  of  bustle  and  preparation,  and  much  passing  and 
repassing  of  officials  through  that  part  of  the  crowd  that  stood  on  the 
further  side  of  the  women  ;  and  whilst  this  proceeded  a  deep  hush 
gradually  fell  upon  the  people. 


TWO  WOMEN  CHAINED  TO   POSTS. 


IN   PRISON.  827 

Now,  by  command,  the  masses  parted  and  fell,  aside,  and  the  king 
saw  a  spectacle  that  froze  the  marrow  in  his  bones.  Fagots  had  been 
piled  about  the  two  women,  and  a  kneeling  man  was  lighting  them ! 

The  women  bowed  their  heads,  and  covered  their  faces  with  their 
hands ;  the  3^ellow  flames  began  to  climb  upward  among  the  snapping 
and  crackling  fagots,  and  wreaths  of  blue  smoke  to  stream  away  on 
the  wind;  the  clergjaiian  lifted  his  hands  and  began  a  prayer  —  just 
then  two  young  girls  came  flying  through  the  great  gate,  uttering 
piercing  screams,  and  threw  themselves  upon  the  women  at  the  stake. 
Instantly  they  were  torn  away  by  the  officers,  and  one  of  them  was 
kept  in  a  tight  grip,  but  the  other  broke  loose,  saying  she  would  die 
with  her  mother ;  and  before  she  could  be  stopped  she  had  flung  her 
arms  about  her  mother's  neck  again.  She  was  torn  away  once  more, 
and  Avith  her  gown  on  fire.  Two  or  three  men  held  her,  and  the 
burning  portion  of  her  gown  was  snatched  off  and  tlirown  flaming 
aside,  she  struggling  all  the  Avhile  to  free  herself,  and  saying  she 
would  be  alone  in  the  world,  now,  nnd  begging  to  be  allowed  to 
die  with  her  mother.  Both  the  girls  screamed  continually,  and  fought 
for  freedom ;  but  suddenly  this  tumult  was  drowned  under  a  volley 
of  heart-piercing  shrieks  of  mortal  agony,  —  the  king  glanced  from 
the  frantic  girls  to  the  stake,  then  turned  away  and  leaned  his  ashen 
face  against  the  wall,  and  looked  no  more.  He  said,  "  That  which 
I  have  seen,  in  that  one  little  moment,  will  never  go  out  from  my 
memory,  but  will  abide  there ;  and  I  shall  see  it  all  the  days,  and 
dream  of  it  all  the  nights,  till  I  die.  Would  God  I  had  been  blind ! " 
.  Hendon  was  watching  the  king.  He  said  to  himself,  with  satisfac- 
tion, "  His  disorder  mendeth  ;  he  hath  changed,  and  groAveth  gentler. 
If  he  had  followed  his  wont,  he  would  have  stormed  at  these  varlets, 
and  said  he  was  king,  and  commanded  that  the  women  be  turned  loose 
unscathed.  Soon  his  delusion  will  pass  away  and  be  forgotten,  and 
his  poor  mind  will  be  whole  again.     God  speed  the  day ! " 


328 


IN   PRISON. 


That  same  day  several  prisoners  were  brought  in  to  remain  over 
night,  who  were  being  conveyed,  under  guard,  to  various  places  in  the, 
kingdom,  to  undergo  punishment  for  crimes  committed.  The  king 
conversed  with  these,  —  he  had  made  it  a  point,  from  the  beginning, 

m 


mm 


mmtm 


"torn  away  by  the  officers.' 


to  instruct  himself  for  the  kingly  office  b}'  questioning  prisoners  when- 
ever the  opportunity  offered  —  and  the  tale  of  their  woes  wrung  his 
heart.  One  of  them  was  a  poor  half-witted  woman  who  had  stolen  a 
yard   or  two  of  cloth  from  a  weaver  —  she  was  to  be  hanged  for  it. 


IN    PlilSON. 


829 


Another  was  a  man  who  had  been  accused  of  stealmg  a  horse ;  he  said 
the  proof  had  failed,  and  he  had  imagined  that  he  was  safe  from  the 
halter ;  but  no  —  he  was  hardly  free  before  he  was  arraigned  for  killing 
a  deer  in  the  king's  park ;  this  was  proved  against  him,  and  now  he 
was  on  his  way  to  the  gallows. 
There  was  a  tradesman's  appren- 
tice whose  case  particularly  dis- 
tressed the  king ;  this  youth  said 
he  found  a  hawk,  one  evening, 
that  had  escaped  from  its  owner, 
and  he  took  it  home  with  him, 
imagining  himself  entitled  to  it ; 
but  the  court  convicted  him  of 
stealing  it,  and  sentenced  him  to 
death. 

The  king  was  furious  over 
these  inhumanities,  and  wanted 
Hendon  to  break  jail  and  fly  with 
him  to  Westminster,  so  that  he 
could  mount  his  throne  and  hold 
out  his  sceptre  in  mercy  over 
these  unfortunate  people  and 
save  their  lives.  "  Poor  child," 
sighed  Hendon,  "these  woful 
tales    have    brought    his    malady 

upon  him  again  —  alack,  but  for  this  evil   hap,  he  would    have    been 
well  in  a  little  time.'' 

Among  these  prisoners  was  an  old  lawyer  —  a  man  with  a  strong 
face  and  a  dauntless  mien.  Three  years  past,  he  had  written  a  pam- 
phlet against  the  Lord  Chancellor,  accusing  him  of  injustice,  and  had 
been  punished  for  it  by  the  loss  of  his  ears  in  the  pillory,  and  degrada- 


"  THE    KING    WAS    FURIOUS." 


330  IN   PRISON. 

tion  from  the  bar,  and  in  addition  had  been  fined  X3000  and  sentenced 
to  imprisonment  for  life.  Lately  he  had  repeated  his  offence  rand  in 
consequence  was  now  under  sentence  to  lose  ivhat  remained  of  his  ears, 
pay  a  fine  of  X5000,  be  branded  on  both  cheeks,  and  remain  in  prison 
for  life. 

"  These  be  honorable  scars,"  he  said,  and  turned  back  his  gray  hair 
and  showed  the  mutilated  stubs  of  what  had  once  been  his  ears. 
The  king's  eye  burned  with  passion.  He  said  — 
"None  believe  in  me  —  neither  wilt  thou.  But  no  matter  — 
within  the  compass  of  a  month  thou  shalt  be  free ;  and  more,  the 
laws  that  have  dishonored  thee,  and  shamed  the  English  name,  shall 
be  swept  from  the  statute  books.  The  world  is  made  wrong,  kings 
should  go  to  school  to  their  own  laws,  at  times,  and  so  learn  mercy."  ^ 

1  See  Notes  to  Chapter  27,  at  end  of  volume. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 


THE    SACRIFICE. 


Meantime  Miles  was  growing  sufficiently  tired  of  confinement 
and  inaction.  But  now  his  trial  came  on,  to  his  great  gratification, 
and  he  thought  he  could  welcome  any  sentence  provided  a  fnrtlier 
imprisonment  should  not  be  a  part  of  it.  But  he  was  mistaken  about 
that.  He  was  in  a  fine  fury  when  he  found  himself  described  as  a 
"  sturdy  vagabond '"  and  sentenced  to  sit  two  hours  in  the  pillory  for 
bearing  that  character  and  for  assaulting  the  master  of  Hendon  Hall. 
His  pretensions  as  to  brothership  with  his  prosecutor,  and  rightful 
heirship  to  the  Hendon  honors  and  estates,  were  left  contemptuously 
unnoticed,  as  being  not  even  worth  examination. 

He  raged  and  threatened,  on  his  way  to  punishment,  but  it  did  no 
good:  he  was  snatched  roughly  along,  by  the  officers,  and  got  an 
occasional  cuff,  besides,  for  his  unreverent  conduct. 

The  king  could  not  pierce  through  the  rabble  that  swarmed 
behind ;  so  he  was  obliged  to  follow  in  the  rear,  remote  from  his 
good  friend  and  servant.  The  king  had  been  nearly  condemned  to 
the  stocks,  himself,  for  being  in  such  bad  company,  but  had  been  let 
off  with  a  lecture  and  a  warning,  in  consideration  of  his  youth.  When 
the  crowd  at  last  halted,  lie  flitted  feverishly  from  point  to  point 
around  its  outer  rim,  hunting  a  place  to  get  through  ;  and  at  last, 
after  a  deal  of  difficulty  and  delay,  succeeded.  There  sat  his  poor 
henchman  in  the  degrading  stocks,  the  sport  and  butt  of  a  dirty  mob 

333 


334 


THE   SACIilFICE. 


—  he,  the  body  servant  of  the  king  of  England !  Edward  had  heaid 
the  sentence  pronounced,  but  he  had  not  realized  the  half  that  it 
meant.  His  anger  began  to  rise  as  the  sense  of  tliis  new  indignity 
which  had  been  put  upon  him  sank  home ;  it  jumped  to  summer  heat, 
the  next  moment,  when  he  saw  an  egg  sail  through  the  air 

and     crush    itself    against      ^^^       Hendon's  cheek,  and  heard  the 


HE   CONFRONTED  THE   OFFICEB 
IN   CHAKGE." 


crowd  roar  its  enjoyment  of  the  episode.     He  sprang  across  the  open 
circle  and  confronted  the  officer  in  charge,  crying "  — 

"  For  shame  !     This  is  my  servant  —  set  him  free  !     I  am  the  "  — 
"  O,   peace ! "    exclaimed    Hendon,   in    a    panic.    "  thou'lt    destroy 
thyself.     Mind  him  not,  officer,  he  is  mad." 

"  Give  thyself  no  trouble  as  to  the  matter  of  minding  him,  good 
man,  I  have  small  mind  to  mind  him ;  but  as  to  teaching  him  some- 
what, to  that  I  am  well  inclined."     He  turned  to  a  subordinate  and 


THE   SACRIFICE.  335 

saifl,  "  Give  the  little  fool  a  taste  or  two  of  the  lash,  to  mend  liis 
manners." 

"  Half  a  dozen  will  better  serve  bis  turn,"  suggested  Sir  Hugh, 
who  had  ridden  up,  a  moment  before,  to  take  a  passing  glance  at  the 
proceedings. 

The  king  was  seized.  He  did  not  even  struggle,  so  paralyzed  was 
he  with  the  mere  thought  of  the  monstrous  outrage  that  was  proposed 
to  be  inflicted  upon  his  sacred  person.  History  was  already  defiled 
with  the  record  of  the  scourging  of  an  English  king  with  whips  —  it 
was  an  intolerable  reflection  that  he  must  furnish  a  duplicate  of  that 
shameful  page.  He  was  in  the  toils,  there  was  no  help  for  him :  he 
must  either  take  this  punishment  or  beg  for  its  remission.  Hard 
conditions ;  he  would  take  the  stripes  —  a  king  might  do  that,  but  a 
king  could  not  beg. 

But  meantime.  Miles  Hendon  was  resolving  the  difficulty.  "■  Let 
the  child  go,"  said  he ;  "  ye  heartless  dogs,  do  ye  not  see  how  young 
and  frail  he  is  ?     Let  him  go  —  I  will  take  his  lashes." 

"  Marry,  a  good  thought,  —  and  thanks  for  it,"  said  Sir  Hugh,  his 
face  lighting  with  a  sardonic  satisfaction.  "  Let  the  little  beggar  go. 
and  give  this  fellow  a  dozen  in  his  place  —  an  honest  dozen,  well  laid 
on."  The  king  was  in  the  act  of  entering  a  fierce  protest,  but  Sir 
Hugh  silenced  him  with  the  potent  remark,  "  Yes,  speak  up,  do,  and 
free  thy  mind  —  only,  mark  ye,  that  for  each  word  you  utter  he  shall 
get  six  strokes  the  more." 

Hendon  was  removed  from  the  stocks,  and  his  back  laid  bare  ;  and 
whilst  the  lash  was  applied  the  poor  little  king  turned  away  liis  face 
and  allowed  unroyal  tears  to  channel  his  cheeks  unchecked.  "Ah, 
brave  good  heart,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  this  loyal  deed  shall  never 
perish  out  of  ni}^  memory.  I  will  not  forget  it  —  and  neither  shall 
they!'"  he  added,  with  passion.  Whilst  he  mused,  his  appreciation 
of  Hendon's  mao-nanimous  conduct  grew  to  greater  and  still  greater 


836 


THE   SACRIFICy;. 


dimensions  in  Ids  mind,  and  so  also  did  his  gratefulness  for  it.  P;:-es- 
ently  lie  said  to  himself,  "Who  saves  his  prince  from  wonnds  and 
possible  death  —  and  this  he  did  for  me  —  performs  high  service  ;  but 
it    is    little  —  it    is    nothing  I  —  O,    less    than    nothing !  —  when    "tis 

weighed  against 
the  act  of  him 
who  saves  his 
prince  from 
SHAME ! " 

Hendon  made 
no  outcry,  under 
the  scourge,  but 
bore  the  heavy 
blows  with  sol- 
dierly fortitude. 
This,  together 
with  his  redeem- 
ing the  boy  by 
taking  his  stripes 
for  him,  com- 
pelled the  respect 
of  even  that  for- 
lorn and  degraded 
mob      that     was 

"wmLE   THE   I.ASH  WAS  APPLIED,  THE   POOR  .-,  -,         ,, 

KING  TURNED  AWAY  HIS  FACE."  gatncrect     tncrc  ; 

and  its  gibes  and 
hootings  died  away,  and  no  sound  remained  but  the  sound  of  the 
falling  blows.  The  stillness  that  pervaded  the  place,  when  Hendon 
found  himself  once  more  in  the  stocks,  was  in  strong  contrast  with 
the  insulting  clamor  which  had  prevailed  there  so  little  a  while  before. 
The  king  came  softly  to  Hendon's  side,  and  whispered  in  his  ear  — 


THE  SACRIFICE. 


337 


"  Kings  cannot  ennoble  thee,  thou  good,  great  soul,  for  One  wlio 
is  higher  than  kings  hath  done  that  for  thee ;  but  a  king  can  confirm 
thy  nobility  to  men."  He  picked  up  the  scourge  from  the  ground, 
touched  Hendon's  bleeding  shoulders  lightlj^  with  it,  and  whispered, 
"  Edward  of  England  dubs  thee  earl !  " 

Hendon  was  touched.  The  water  welled  to  his  eyes,  yet  at  the 
same    time    the    grisly  humor  of  the  situation  and  cir- 

cumstances    so     under-       ^^^^       mined  his  gravity  that  it  was  all 


-Mi^ 


SIR  HUGH   SPUKRED    AWAY. 


he  could  do  to  keep 
some  sign  of  his  inward 
mirth  from  showing  out- 
side. To  be  suddenly 
hoisted,  naked  and  gory, 
from  the  common  stocks  to  the  Alpine  altitude  and  splendor  of  an 
Earldom,  seemed  to  him  the  last  possibility  in  the  line  of  the  gro- 
tesque. He  said  to  himself,  "  Now  am  I  finely  tinselled,  indeed ! 
The  spectre-knight  of  the  Kingdom  of  Dreams  and  Shadows  is 
become  a  spectre-earl !  —  a  dizzy  flight  for  a  callow  wing !  An'  this 
go  on,  T  shall  presently  be  hung  like  a  very  may-pole  with  fantastic 


338  THE   SACRIFICE. 

gauds  and  make-believe  honors.  But  I  shall  value  them,  all  valueless 
as  they  are,  for  the  love  that  doth  bestow  them.  Better  these  poor 
mock  dignities  of  mine,  that  come  unasked,  from  a  clean  hand  and  a 
right  spirit,  than  real  ones  bought  by  servility  from  grudging  and 
interested  power." 

The  dreaded  Sir  Hugh  wheeled  his  horse  about,  and  as  he  spurred 
away,  the  living  wall  divided  silently  to  let  him  pass,  and  as  silently 
closed  together  again.  And  so  remained ;  nobody  went  so  far  as  to 
venture  a  remark  in  favor  of  the  prisoner,  or  in  compliment  to  him  ; 
but  no  matter,  the  absence  of  abuse  was  a  sufficient  homage  in  itself. 
A  late  comer  who  was  not  posted  as  to  the  present  circumstances,  and 
who  delivered  a  sneer  at  the  "  impostor  "  and  was  in  the  act  of  fol- 
lowing it  with  a  dead  cat,  was  promptly  knocked  down  and  kicked 
out,  without  any  words,  and  then  the  deep  quiet  resumed  sway  once 
more. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 


TO  I.ONDON. 


When  Hendon's  term  of  service  in  the  stocks  was  finished,  he  was 
released  and  ordered  to  quit  the  region  and  come  back  no  more.  His 
sword  was  restored  to  him,  and  also  his  mule  and  his  donkey.  He 
mounted  and  rode  off,  followed  by  the  king,  the  crowd  o})ening  with 
quiet  respectfulness  to  let  them  pass,  and  then  dispersing  when  they 
were  gone. 

Hendon  was  soon  absorbed  in  tliought.  There  were  questions  of 
high  import  to  be  answered.  What  should  he  do  ?  Whither  should 
he  go  ?  Powerful  help  must  he  found,  somewhere,  or  he  must  relin- 
quish his  inheritance  and  remain  under  the  imputation  of.  being  an 
impostor  besides.  Where  could  he  hope  to  find  this  powerful  help? 
Where,  indeed  !  It  was  a  knotty  question.  By  and  by  a  thought 
occurred  to  him  which  })ointed  to  a  possibility  —  the  slenderest  of 
slender  possibilities,  certainly,  but  still  \vorth  considering",  for  lack  of 
any  other  that  promised  any  thing  at  all.  He  remembered  what  old 
Andrews  had  said  about  the  young  king's  goodness  and  his  generous 
championship  of  the  wronged  and  inifortunate.  Why  not  go  and  try 
to  get  speech  of  him  and  beg  for  justice  ?  Ah,  yes,  but  could  so  fan- 
tastic a  pauper  get  admission  to  the  august  presence  of  a  monarch  ? 
Never  mind  —  let  that  matter  take  care  of  itself ;  it  was  a  bridge  that 
would  not  need  to  be  crossed  till  he  should  come  to  it.  He  was 
an  old   campaigner,  and  used  to  inventing  shifts  and  expedients  ;  no 

341 


342 


TO   LONDON. 


doubt  he  would  be  able  to  find  a  way.  Yes,  he  would  strike  for  the 
capital.  Maybe  his  father's  old  friend  Sir  Humphrey  Marlow  would 
help  him  — "  good  old  Sir  Humphrey,  Head  Lieutenant   of  the   late 

king's    kitchen,    or    stables,    or    some- 
thing "  —  Miles      could     not    re- 
member   just  what    or   which. 
Now  that  he  had  something 
to  turn  his    energies  to,   a 
distinctly    defined   object 


HENDON  MOUNTED   AND   RODE   OFF  WITH  THE   KING. 


to  accomplish,  the  fog  of  humiliation  and  depression  which  had  settled 
down  upon  his  spirits  lifted  and  blew  away,  and  he  raised  his  head 
and  looked  about  him.  He  was  surprised  to  see  how  far  he  had  come  ; 
the  village  was  away  behind  him.  The  king  was  jogging  along  in  his 
wake,  with  his  head  bowed ;  for  he,  too,  was  deep  in  plans  and  think- 


TO  LONDON. 


843 


'€.■'  S-^-,.^: 


"  IN  THE   MIDST  OF   A  JAM   OF   HOWLING   PEOPLE 


ings.  A  sorrowful  misgiving  clouded  Hendon's  new-born  cheerful- 
ness :  would  the  boy  be  willing  to  go  again  to  a  city  where,  during  all 
his  brief  life,  he  had  never  known  any  thing  but  ill  usage  and  pinching 
want?  But  the  question  must  be  asked;  it  could  not  be  avoided;  so 
Hendon  reined  up,  and  called  out  — 

"I  had  forgotten  to  inquire  whither  we  are  bound.  Thy  com- 
mands, my  liege ! " 

"To  London!" 

Hendon  moved  on  again,  mightily  contented  witli  the  answer  —  but 
astounded  at  it,  too. 


344  TO   LONDON. 

The  whole  journey  was  made  without  an  adventure  of  importance. 
But  it  ended  with  one.  About  ten  o'clock  on  the  nighl  of  the  19th 
of  February,  they  stepped  upon  London  Bridge,  in  the  midst  of  a 
writhing,  struggling  jam  of  howling  and  hurrahing  people,  whose  beer- 
jolly  faces  stood  out  strongly  in  the  glare  from  manifold  torches  —  and 
at  that  instant  the  decaying  head  of  some  former  duke  or  other  gran- 
dee tumbled  down  between  them,  striking  Hendon  on  the  elbow  and 
then  bounding  off  among  the  hurrying  confusion  of  feet.  So  evanes- 
cent and  unstable  are  men's  works,  in  this  world !  —  the  late  good 
king  is  but  three  weeks  dead  and  three  days  in  his  grave,  and  already 
the  adornments  which  he  took  such  pains  to  select  from  prominent 
people  for  his  noble  bridge  are  falling.  A  citizen  stumbled  over  that 
head,  and  drove  his  own  head  into  the  back  of  somebody  in  front  of 
him,  who  turned  and  knocked  down  the  first  person  that  came  handy, 
and  was  promptly  laid  out  himself  by  that  person's  friend.  It  was  the 
right  ripe  time  for  a  free  fight,  for  the  festivities  of  the  morrow  — 
Coronation  Day  —  were  already  beginning;  everybody  was  full  of 
strong  drink  and  patriotism ;  within  five  minutes  the  free  fight  was 
occupying  a  good  deal  of  ground ;  within  ten  or  twelve  it  covered  an 
acre  or  so,  and  was  become  a  riot.  By  this  time  Hendon  and  the  king 
were  hopelessly  separated  from  each  other  and  lost  in  the  rush  and 
turmoil  of  the  roaring  masses  of  hinuanity.     And  so  we  leave  them. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 


TOM'S   PROGRESS. 


Whilst  the  true  King  wandered  about  the  land  poorly  clad,  poorly 
fed,  cuffed  and  derided  by  tramps  one  while,  herding  with  thieves  and 
murderers  in  a  jail  another,  and  called  idiot  and  impostor  by  all  impar- 
tially, the  mock  King  Tom  Canty  enjoyed  a  quite  different  experience. 

When  we  saw  him  last,  royalty  was  just  beginning  to  have  a  bright 
side  for  him.  This  bright  side  went  on  brightening  more  and  more 
every  day :  in  a  very  little  while  it  was  become  almost  all  sunshine 
and  delightfulness.  He  lost  his  fears ;  his  misgivings  faded  out  and 
died ;  his  embarrassments  departed,  and  gave  place  to  an  easy  and  con- 
fident bearing.  He  worked  the  Avhipf)ing-boy  mine  to  ever-increasing 
profit. 

He  ordered  my  Lady  Elizabeth  and  my  Lady  Jane  Grey  into  his 
presence  when  he  wanted  to  play  or  talk,  and  dismissed  them  when  he 
was  done  with  them,  with  the  air  of  one  familiarly  accustomed  to  such 
performances.  It  no  longer  confused  him  to  have  these  lofty  person- 
ages kiss  his  hand  at  parting. 

He  came  to  enjoy  being  conducted  to  bed  in  state  at  night,  and 
dressed  with  intricate  and  solemn  ceremony  in  the  morning.  It  came 
to  be  a  proud  pleasure  to  march  to  dinner  attended  by  a  glittering  pro- 
cession of  officers  of  state  and  gentlemen-at-arms ;  insomuch,  indeed, 
that  he  doubled  his  guard  of  gentlemen-at-arms,  and  made  them  a 
hundred.  He  liked  to  hear  the  bugles  sounding  down  the  long  corri- 
dors, and  the  distant  voices  responding,  "  Way  for  the  King ! " 

.347 


348 


TOM'S   PROGRESS. 


He  even  learned  to  enjoy  sitting  in  throned  state  in  council,  and 
seeming  to  be  something  more  than  the  Lord  Protector's  mouth-piece. 
He  liked  to  receive  great  ambassadors  and  their  gorgeous  trains,  and 
listen  to  the  affectionate  messages  they  brought  from  illustrious  mon- 
archs  who  called  Mm  "•  brother."  O  happy  Tom  Cant}-,  late  of  Offal 
Court ! 


TO    KISS    HIS    HAND    AT    PAUTlNt 


He  enjoyed  his  splendid  clothes,  and  ordered  more :  he  found  his 
four  hundred  servants  too  few  for  his  proper  grandeur,  and  trebled 
them.  The  adulation  of  salaaming  courtiers  came  to  be  sweet  music 
to  his  ears.  He  remained  kind  and  gentle,  and  a  sturdy  and  deter- 
mined champion  of  all  that  were  oppressed,  and  he  made  tireless  war 
upon  unjust  laws:  yet  upon  occasion,  being  offended,  he  could  turn 
upon  an  earl,  or  even  a  duke,  and  give  him  a  look  that  would  make 


TOM'S   PE OGRESS. 


34§ 


him  tremble.  Once,  when  his  royal  "sister,'"  the  grimly^' holy  Lady 
Mary,  set  herself  to  reason  with  him  against  the  wisdom  of  his  course 
in  pardoning  so  many  people  who  would  otherwise  be  jailed,  or  hanged, 
or  burned,  and  reminded  him  that  their  august  late  father's  prisons  had 
sometimes  contained  as  high  as  sixty  thousand  convicts  at  one  time. 


"COMMANDED  HER  TO  GO  TO  HER  CLOSET, 


and  that  during  his  admirable  reign  lie  had  delivered  seventy-two  thou- 
sand thieves  and  robbers  over  to  death  by  the  executioner,^  the  boy 
Avas  filled  with  generous  indignation,  and  commanded  her  to  go  to  her 
closet,  and  beseech  God  to  take  away  the  stone  that  was  in  her  breast, 
and  give  her  a  human  heart. 

'  Hume's  England. 


350  rOM'S   I'ROGEESS. 

Did  Tom  Canty  never  feel  troubled  about  the  poor  little  rightful 
prince  who  had  treated  him  so  kindly,  and  flown  out  with  such  hot 
zeal  to  avenge  him  upon  the  insolent  sentinel  at  the  palace-gate  ? 
Yes  ;  his  first  royal  days  and  nights  were  pretty  well  sprinkled  with 
painful  thoughts  about  the  lost  prince,  and  with  sincere  longings  for 
his  return,  and  happy  restoration  to  his  native  rights  and  splendors. 
But  as  time  wore  on,  and  the  prince  did  not  come,  Tom's  mind  became 
more  and  more  occupied  with  his  new  and  enchanting  experiences,  and 
by  little  and  little  the  vanished  monarch  faded  almost  out  of  his 
thoughts ;  and  finally,  when  he  did  intrude  upon  them  at  intervals, 
he  was  become  an  unwelcome  spectre,  for  he  made  Tom  feel  guilty 
and  ashamed. 

Tom's  poor  mother  and  sisters  travelled  the  same  road  out  of  his 
mind.  At  first  he  pined  for  them,  sorrowed  for  them,  longed  to  see 
them,  but  later,  the  thought  of  their  coming  some  day  in  their  rags 
and  dirt,  and  betraying  him  with  their  kisses,  and  pulling  him  down 
from  his  lofty  place,  and  dragging  him  back  to  penury  and  degradation 
and  the  slums,  made  him  shudder.  At  last  the}^  ceased  to  trouble  his 
thoughts  almost  wholl}'.  And  he  was  content,  even  glad ;  for,  when- 
ever their  mournful  and  accusing  faces  did  rise  before  him  now,  they 
made  him  feel  more  despicable  than  the  worms  that  crawl. 

At  midnight  of  the  19tli  of  February,  Tom  Canty  was  sinking  to 
sleep  in  his  rich  bed  in  the  palace,  guarded  by  his  loyal  vassals,  and 
surrounded  Ly  the  pomps  of  roj^alty,  a  happy  boy ;  for  to-morrow 
was  the  day  appointed  for  his  solemn  crowning  as  King  of  England. 
At  that  same  hour,  Edward,  the  true  king,  hungry  aiid  thirsty,  soiled 
and  draggled,  worn  with  travel,  and  clothed  in  rags  and  shreds, — his 
share  of  the  results  of  the  riot,  —  was  wedged  in  among  a  crowd  of 
pe()})le  who.  were  watching  with  deep  interest  certain  liurrying  gangs 
of  workmen  who  streamed  in  and  out  of  Westminster  Abbey,  busy  as 
ants:  they  were  making  the  last  preparation  for  the  royal  coronation. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 


THE    RECOGNITION    PROCESSION. 


When    Tom    Canty  awoke   the  next  morning,  the  air  was  heavy 
with  a  thunderous  murmur:  all  the  distances  were  charged  with  it.     It 

was  music  to  him ;    for  it  meant  that   the   Eng- 

i^t,^  ^\      libh  woild   was    out   in    its    strength   to   give 
ll    'l  [fill    -   l\    loyal  welcome  to  the  great  day. 

\         Piesently  Tom  found  himself  once  more 

the    chief    liguie    in   a   wonderful    floating 

\ '     I  '  '    pageant   on   the    Thames ;    for    b}^    ancient 

w,  =  I    ^ —        -,    custom  the  "  recognition  pro- 


cession "    through      London 
-  must  start  from  the  Tower, 

and  he  was  bound  thither. 

THE    START   FOli   THE   TOWEK.  ,-,,  ^  •  t      jt 

When  he   arrived  there, 
the  sides  of  the  venerable  fortress  seemed  suddenly  rent  in  a  thousand 


35-1  THE  RECOGNITION  PROCESSION, 

places,  and  from  eveiy  rent  leaped  a  red  tongue  of  flame  and  a 
white  gush  of  smoke ;  a  deafening  explosion  followed,  which  drowned 
the  shoutings  of  the  multitude,  and  made  the  ground  tremble  ;  the 
flame-jets,  the  smoke,  and  the  explosions,  were  repeated  over  and 
over  again  with  marvellous  celerity,  so  that  in  a  few  moments  the  old 
Tower  disappeared  in  the  vast  fog  of  its  own  smoke,  all  but  the  very 
top  of  the  tall  pile  called  the  White  Tower:  this,  with  its  banners, 
stood  out  above  the  dense  bank  of  vapor  as  a  mountain-peak  projects 
above  a  cloud-rack. 

Tom  Canty,  splendidly  arrayed,  mounted  a  prancing  war-steed, 
whose  rich  trappings  almost  reached  to  the  ground ;  his  "  uncle,"  the 
Lord  Protector  Somerset,  similarly  mounted,  took  place  in  his  rear ; 
the  King's  Guard  formed  in  single  ranks  on  either  side,  clad  in  bur- 
nished armor ;  after  the  Protector  followed  a  seemingly  interminable 
procession  of  resplendent  nobles  attended  by  their  vassals  ;  after  these 
came  the  lord  mayor  and  the  aldermanic  body,  in  crimson  velvet  robes, 
and  with  their  gold  chains  across  their  breasts ;  and  after  these  the 
officers  and  members  of  all  the  guilds  of  London,  in  rich  raiment,  and 
bearing  the  showy  banners  of  the  several  corporations.  Also  in  the 
procession,  as  a  special  guard  of  honor  through  the  city,  was  the 
Ancient  and  Honorable  Artillery  Company,  —  an  organization  already 
three  hundred  years  old  at  that  time,  and  the  only  military  body  in 
England  possessing  the  privilege  (which  it  still  possesses  in  our  day) 
of  holding  itself  independent  of  the  commands  of  Parliament.  It 
was  a  brilliant  spectacle,  and  was  hailed  with  acclamations  all  along 
the  line,  as  it  took  its  stately  way  through  the  packed  multitudes  of 
citizens.  The  chronicler  says,  "  The  King,  as  he  entered  the  city,  was  • 
received  by  the  people  with  praj^ers,  welcomings,  cries,  and  tender 
words,  and  all  signs  which  argue  an  earnest  love  of  subjects  toward 
their  sovereign ;  and  the  King,  by  holding  up  his  glad  countenance  to 
such  as  stood  afar  off,  and  most  tender  language  to  those  that  stood 


THE  RECOGNITION    PROCESSION. 


355 


nigh  his  Grace,  showed  liimself  no  less  thankful  to  receive  the  people's 
good  will  than  they  to  offer  it.  To  all  that  wished  him  well,  he  gave 
thanks.  To  such  as  bade  '  God  save  his  Grace,'  he  said  in  return,  '  God 
save  you  all ! '  and  added  that  '  he  thanked  them  with  all  his  heart.' 
Wonderfully  transported  were  the  peo- 
ple with  the  loving  answers  and  ges- 
tures of  their  King." 

In  Fenchurch  Street  a  "fair  child, 
in  costly  apparel,"  stood  on  a  stage  to 
welcome  his  Majesty  to  the  city.  The 
last  verse  of  his  greeting  was  in  these 
words :  — 

"  Welcome,  O   King !   as   imich   as   hearts   can 
think ; 
AVelcome    again,    as    nuich    as   tongne   can 
tell,  — 
Welcome  to  joyous  tongues,  and  hearts  that 
will  not  shrink : 
God  thee  preserve,  we  pray,  and  wish  thee 
ever  well." 

The  people  burst  forth  in  a  glad 
shout,  repeating  with  one  voice  what 
the  child  had  said.  Tom  Canty  gazed 
abroad  over  the  surging  sea  of  eager 
faces,  and  his  heart  swelled  with  exul- 
tation ;  and  he  felt  that  the  one  thing 
worth  living  for  in  this  world  was  to  be 
a  king,  and  a  nation's  idol.  Presently  he  caught  sight,  at  a  distance, 
of  a  couple  of  his  ragged  Offal  Court  comrades,  —  one  of  them  the 
lord  high  admiral  in  his  late  mimic  court,  the  other  the  first  lord  of 
the  bedchamber  in  the  same  pretentious  fiction ;  and  his  i)ride  swelled 


WKLCOMK,    O    KING  , 


356 


THE    RECOGNITION   PROCESSION. 


higher  than  ever.     Oh,  if  they  could  only  recognize  him  now!     What 
uns]3eakable    glory   it   would    be,    if   they   could    recognize    him,  and 
realize  that  the  derided  mock  king  of  the  slums  and 
back  alleys  was  become  a  real  king,  with  illuhtii- 
ous  dukes  and  pinices  foi  his  humble  menials. 


and   the    English    woild    at 
he  had  to  den} 


himself,    and 


choke  down  his  desire, 
for  such  a  recognition 
might  cost  more  than 
it  would  come  to  :  so 
he  turned  away  his 
head,  and  left  the  two 
soiled  lads  to  go  on 
with     their    shoutings 

and  glad  adulations,  unsuspicious  of  whom  it  was  they  were  lavishing 

them  upon. 


"a  lakqess!  a  laugess!" 


THE  RECOGNITION  PROCESSION.  357 

Every  now  and  then  rose  the  cry,  "  A  Largess !  a  largess !  *'  and 
Tom  responded  by  scattering  a  handful  of  bright  new  coins  abroad 
for  the  multitude  to  scramble  for. 

The  chronicler  says,  "At  the  upper  end  of  Gracechurch  Street, 
before  the  sign  of  the  Eagle,  the  city  had  erected  a  gorgeous  arcli, 
beneath  which  was  a  stage,  which  stretclied  from  one  side  of  the  street 
to  the  other.  This  was  a  historical  pageant,  representing  the  King's 
immediate  progenitors.  There  sat  Elizabeth  of  York  in  the  midst  of 
an  immense  white  rose,  whose  petals  formed  elaborate  furbelows 
around  her ;  by  her  side  was  Henry  VII.,  issuing  out  of  a  vast  red 
rose,  disposed  in  the  same  manner :  tlie  hands  of  the  royal  pair  were- 
locked  together,  and  the  wedding-ring  ostentatiousl}^  displayed.  From 
the  red  and  white  roses  jiroceeded  a  stem,  wliich  reached  up  to  a 
second  stage,  occupied  by  Henry  VIII.,  issuing  from  a  red-and-white 
rose,  with  the  effigy  of  the  new  king's  mother,  Jane  Seymour,  repre- 
sented by  his  side.  One  branch  sprang  from  this  pair,  which  mounted 
to  a  third  stage,  where  sat  the  effigy  of  Edward  VI.  himself,  entlironed 
in  royal  majesty ;  and  the  whole  pageant  was  framed  with  wreaths  of 
roses,  red  and  white." 

This  quaint  and  gaudy  spectacle  so  wrought  upon  the  rejoicing 
people,  that  their  acclamations  utterly  smothered  the  small  voice  of 
the  child  whose  business  it  was  to  explain  the  thing  in  eulogistic 
rhymes.  But  Tom  Canty  was  not  sorry;  for  this  loyal  uproar  was 
sweeter  music  to  him  than  any  poetry,  no  matter  what  its  quality 
might  be.  Whithersoever  Tom  turned  his  happy  young  face,  the 
people  recognized  the  exactness  of  his  effigy's  likeness  to  himself,  the 
flesh  and  blood  counterpart;  and  new  whirlwinds  of  applause  burst 
forth. 

The  great  pageant  moved  on,  and  still  on,  under  one  triumphal 
arch  after  another,  and  past  a  bewildering  succession  of  spectacular 
and   symbolical   tableaux,  each  of  which   tyi^ified   and   exalted  some 


358  THE  RECOGNITION  PROCESSION. 

virtue,  or  talent,  or  merit,  of  the  little  king's.  "  Throughout  the  whole 
of  Cheapside,  from  every  penthouse  and  window,  hung  banners  and 
streamers ;  and  the  richest  carpets,  stuffs,  and  cloth-of-gold  tapestried 
the  streets,  —  specimens  of  the  great  wealth  of  the  stores  within  ;  and 
the  splendor  of  this  thoroughfare  was  equalled  in  tlie  other  streets, 
and  in  some  even  surpassed." 

"  And  all  these  wonders  and  these  marvels  are  to  welcome  me  — 
me  !  "  murmured  Tom  Canty. 

The  mock  king's  cheeks  were  flushed  with  excitement,  his  eyes 
were  flashing,  his  senses  swam  in  a  delirium  of  pleasure.  At  this 
point,  just  as  he  was  raising  his  hand  to  fling  another  rich  largess,  he 
caught  sight  of  a  pale,  astounded  face  which  was  strained  forward  out 
of  the  second  rank  of  the  crowd,  its  intense  e3'es  riveted  upon  him.  A 
sickening  consternation  struck  through  him  ;  he  recognized  his  mother  ! 
and  up  flew  his  hand,  palm  outward,  before  his  eyes,  —  that  old  invol- 
untary gesture,  born  of  a  forgotten  episode,  and  perpetuated  by  habit. 
In  an  instant  more  she  had  torn  her  way  out  of  the  press,  and  past  the 
guards,  and  was  at  his  side.  She  embraced  his  leg,  she  covered  it 
with  kisses,  she  cried,  "  O  my  child,  my  darling ! ''  lifting  toward  him 
a  face  that  was  transfigured  with  joy  and  love.  The  same  instant  an 
oflicer  of  the  King's  Guard  snatched  her  aAvay  with  a  curse,  and  sent 
her  reeling  back  whence  she  came  with  a  vigorous  impulse  from  his 
strong  arm.  The  words  "  I  do  not  know  j^ou,  woman ! "  were  falling 
from  Tom  Canty's  lips  when  this  piteous  thing  occurred ;  but  it  smote 
him  to  the  heart  to  see  her  treated  so ;  and  as  she  turned  for  a  last 
glimpse  of  him,  whilst  the  crowd  was  swallowing  her  from  his  sight, 
she  seemed  so  wounded,  so  broken-hearted,  that  a  shame  fell  upon  him 
which  consumed  his  pride  to  ashes,  and  withered  his  stolen  royalty. 
Ilis  grandeurs  were  stricken  valueless :  they  seemed  to  fall  away  from 
hin^like  rotten  rags. 

The  procession  moved  on,  and  still  on,  through  ever  augmenting 


THE  RECOGNITION  PROCESSION. 


359 


splendors  and  ever  augmenting   tempests   of  welcome ;   but   to    Tom 
Canty  they  were  as  if  they  had  not  been.     He  neither  saw  nor  heard. 


Royalty  had  lost  its  grace  and  sweetness ; 
its  pomps  were  become  a  reproach.  Re- 
morse was  eating  his  heart  out.  He  said, 
"Would  God  I  were  free  of  my  cap- 
tivity ! " 
He  had  unconsciously  dropped  back  into  the  phraseology  of  the 
first  days  of  his  compulsory  greatness. 


360  THE  RECOGNITION   PROCESSION. 

The  shining  pageant  still  went  winding  like  a  radiant  and  inter- 
minable serpent  down  the  crooked  lanes  of  the  quaint  old  city,  and 
through  the  huzzaing  hosts ;  but  still  the  King  rode  with  bowed  head 
and  vacant  eyes,  seeing  only  his  mother's  face  and  that  wounded  look 
in  it. 

"  Largess,  largess !  "     The  cry  fell  upon  an  unheeding  ear. 

"  Long  live  Edward  of  England ! "  It  seemed  as  if  the  earth 
shook  with  the  explosion ;  but  there  was  no  response  from  the  King. 
He  heard  it  only  as  one  hears  the  thunder  of  the  surf  when  it  is 
blown  to  the  ear  out  of  a  great  distance,  for  it  was  smothered  under 
another  sound  which  was  still  nearer,  in  his  own  breast,  in  his  accus- 
ing conscience,  —  a  voice  Avhich  kept  repeating  those  shameful  words, 
"  I  do  not  know  you,  woman  !  " 

The  words  smote  upon  the  King's  soul  as  the  strokes  of  a  funeral 
bell  smite  upon  the  soul  of  a  surviving  friend  when  they  remind  him 
of  secret  treacheries  suffered  at  his  hands  by  him  that  is  gone. 

New  glories  were  unfolded  at  every  turning ;  new  wonders,  new 
marvels,  sprung  into  view ;  the  pent  clamors  of  waiting  batteries  were 
released ;  new  raptures  poured  from  the  throats  of  the  waiting  mul- 
titudes :  but  the  King  gave  no  sign,  and  the  accusing  voice  that 
went  moaning  through  his  comfortless  breast  was  all  the  sound  he 
heard. 

By  and  by  the  gladness  in  the  faces  of  the  populace  changed  a 
little,  and  became  touched  with  a  something  like  solicitude  or  anxiety : 
an  abatement  in  the  volume  of  applause  was  observable  too.  The 
lord  protector  was  quick  to  notice  these  things :  he  was  as  quick  to 
detect  the  cause.  He  spurred  to  the  King's  side,  bent  low  in  his 
saddle,  uncovered,  and  said,  — 

"  My  liege,  it  is  an  ill  time  for  dreaming.  The  people  observe  thy 
downcast  head,  thy  clouded  mien,  and  they  take  it  for  an  omen.  Be 
advised :  unveil  the  sun  of  royalty,  and  let  it  shine  upon  these  boding 


THE  RECOGNITION  PROCESSION. 


361 


vapors,  and   disperse    them.     Lift    up    thy   face,   and  smile   npon   the 
people." 

So  saying,  the  duke  scattered  a  handful  of  coins  to  right  and  left, 
then  retired  to  his  place.  The  mock  king  did  mechanically  as  he  had 
been  bidden.  His  smile  had  no  heart  in  it,  but  few  eyes  were  near 
enough  or  sharp  enough  to  detect  that.     The  noddings  of  his  plumed 


"my    LIEGK,    IT   IS    AN   ILL   TIME    FUK    DliEAMliNCi." 


head  as  he  saluted  his  subjects  were  full  of  grace  and  graciousness ; 
the  largess  which  he  delivered  from  his  hand  was  royally  liberal :  so 
the  people's  anxiety  vanished,  and  the  acclamations  burst  forth  again 
in  as  mighty  a  volume  as  before. 

Still  once  more,  a  little  before  the  progress  was  ended,  the  duke 

was  obliged  to  ride  forward,  and  make  remonstrance.    He  whispered,  — 

"  O  dread  sovereign !  shake  off  these  fatal  humors :  the  eyes  of  the 


862 


THE  RECOGNITION  PROCESSION. 


world  are  upon  thee."  Then  he  added  with  sharp  annoyance,  "  Per- 
dition catch  that  crazy  pauper !  'twas  she  that  hath  disturbed  your 
Highness." 


The  gorgeous  figure  turned  a  lustreless   eye 
upon  the  duke,  and  said  in  a  dead  voice,  — 

"  She  was  my  mother  !  " 

"  My    God ! "   groaned    the    protector    as    he 
reined    his    horse     backward    to    his    post,    "the 
omen    was   pregnant   with   prophecy.      He   is   gone 
mad  asain  ! " 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 


CORONATION    DAY. 


Let  us  go  backward  a  few  hours,  and  place  ourselves  in  Westmin- 
ster Abbey,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  this  memorable  Corona- 
tion Day.  We  are  not  without  company ;  for  although  it  is  still  night, 
we  find  the  torch-lighted  galleries  already  filling  up  with  people  who 
are  well  content  to  sit  still  and  wait  seven  or  eight  hours  till  the  time 
shall  come  for  them  to  see  what  they  may  not  hope  to  see  twice  in 
their  lives  —  the  coronation  of  a  king.  Yes,  London  and  Westminster 
have  been  astir  ever  since  the  warning  guns  boomed  at  three  o'clock, 
and  already  crowds  of  untitled  ricli  folk  who  have  bought  the  privilege 
of  trying  to  find  sitting-room  in  the  galleries  are  flocking  in  at  the 
entrances  reserved  for  their  sort. 

The  hours  drag  along,  tediously  enough.  All  stir  lias  ceased  for 
some  time,  for  every  gallery  has  long  ago  been  packed.  We  may  sit, 
now,  and  look  and  think  at  our  leisure.  We  have  glimpses,  here  and 
there  and  yonder,  through  the  dim  cathedral  twilight,  of  portions  of 
many  galleries  and  balconies,  wedged  full  with  people,  the  other  por- 
tions of  these  galleries  and  balconies  being  cut  off  from  sight  by  inter- 
vening pillars  and  architectural  projections.  We  have  in  view  the 
whole  of  the  great  north  transept  —  empty,  and  waiting  for  England's 
privileged  ones.  We  see  also  the  ample  area  or  platform,  carpeted 
with  rich  stuffs,  whereon  the  throne  stands.  The  throne  occupies  the 
centre  of  the  platform,  and  is  raised  above  it  upon  an  elevation  of  four 

365 


366 


CORONATION  DAY. 


^0 


steps.  Within  the  seat  of  the  throne  is  enclosed  a  rough  flat  rock  — 
the  stone  of  Scone  —  which  many  generations  of  Scottish  kings  sat  on 
to  be  crowned,  and  so  it  in  time  became  holy  enough  to  answer  a  like 
purpose  for  English  monarchs.  Both  the  throne  and  its  footstool  are 
covered  with  cloth  of  gold. 

Stillness  reigns,  the  torches  blink  dully,  the  time  drags  heavily. 
But  at  last  the  lagging  daylight  asserts  itself,  the  torches  are  extin- 
guished, and  a  mellow  radiance  suffuses  the  great  spaces.     All  features 


"  OATHEKS   UP  THE   I-ADY'S   LONG   TKAIN." 

of  the  noble  building  are  distinct,  now,  but  soft  and  dream}-,  for  the 
sun  is  lightly  veiled  with  clouds. 

At  seven  o'clock  the  first  break  in  the  drowsy  monotony  occurs ; 
for  on  the  stroke  of  this  hour  the  first  peeress  enters  the  transept, 
clothed  like  Solomon  for  splendor,  and  is  conducted  to  her  appointed 
place  by  an  official  clad  in  satins  and  velvets,  whilst  a  duplicate  of 
him  gathers  up  the  lady's  long  train,  follows  after,  and,  when  the  lady 
is  seated,  arranges  the  train  across  her  lap  for  her.  He  then  places 
her  footstool  according  to  her  desire,  after  which  he  puts  her  coronet 
where  it  will  be  convenient  to  her  hand  when  the  time  for  the  simul- 
taneous coroiiettiiio-  of  the  nobles  shall  arrive. 


'tux-t. 


h-Cui    A^-X.i,V  #3C 


VtZL   dW/>vit^H.  ,  Y  ^^^^'    '''^" 


/   11 


CORONATION  DAY.  367 

By  this  time  the  peeresses  are  flowing  in  in  a  glittering  stream, 
and  the  satin-clad  officials  are  flitting  and  glinting  everywhere,  seating 
them  and  making  them  comfortable.  The  scene  is  animated  enough, 
now.  There  is  stir  and  life,  and  shifting  color  everj^ where.  After  a 
time,  quiet  reigns  again ;  for  the  peeresses  are  all  come,  and  are  all 
in  their  places  —  a  solid  acre,  or  such  a  matter,  of  human  flowers, 
resplendent  in  variegated  colors,  and  frosted  like  a  Milky  Way  witli 
diamonds.  There  are  all  ages,  here :  brown,  wrinkled,  whitehaired 
dowagers  who  are  able  to  go  back,  and  still  back,  down  the  stream 
of  time,  and  recall  the  crowning  of  Richard  III  and  the  troublous 
days  of  that  old  forgotten  age ;  and  there  are  handsome  middle-aged 
dames ;  and  lovely  and  gracious  young  matrons ;  and  gentle  and 
beautiful  young  girls,  with  beaming  eyes  and  fresh  complexions,  who 
may  possibly  put  on  their  jewelled  coronets  awkwarcll}"  when  the  great 
time  comes ;  for  the  matter  will  be  new  to  them,  and  their  excitement 
will  be  a  sore  hindrance.  Still,  this  may  not  happen,  for  the  hair  of 
all  these  ladies  has  been  arranged  with  a  special  view  to  the  swift  and 
successful  lodging  of  the  crown  in  its  place  when  the  signal  comes. 

We  have  seen  that  this  massed  array  of  peeresses  is  sown  thick 
with  diamonds,  and  we  also  see  that  it  is  a  marvellous  spectacle  —  but 
now  we  are  about  to  be  astonished  in  earnest.  About  nine,  the  clouds 
suddenl}"  break  away  and  a  shaft  of  sunshine  cleaves  the  mellow 
atmosphere,  and  drifts  slowly  along  the  ranks  of  ladies ;  and  every 
rank  it  touches  flames  into  a  dazzling  sj)lendor  of  many-colored  fires, 
and  we  tingle  to  our  finger-tips  with  the  electric  thrill  that  is  shot 
through  us  by  the  surprise  and  the  beauty  of  the  spectacle  !  Presently 
a  special  envoy  from  some  distant  corner  of  the  Orient,  marching 
with  the  general  body  of  foreign  ambassadors,  crosses  this  bar  of  sun- 
shine, and  we  catch  our  breath,  the  glory  that  streams  and  flashes  and 
palpitates  about  him  is  so  overpowering ;  for  he  is  crusted  from  head 
to  heel  with  gems,  and  his  slightest  movement  showers  a  dancing 
radiance  all  around  him. 


368 


CORONATION  BAY. 


Let  us  change  the  tense  for  convenience.     The  time  drifted  along, 

—  one  hour  —  two  hours  —  two  hours  and  a 
half;  then  the  deep  booming  of  artillery 
told  that  the  king  and  his  grand 
procession  had  arrived  at  last; 
so  the  waiting  multitude  re- 
joiced. All  knew  that  a  fur- 
ther delay  must  follow,  for 
the  king  must  be  prepared 
and  robed  for  the  solemn, 
ceremony;  but  this  delay 
would  be  pleasantly  occu- 
pied b}^  the  assembling  of 
the  peers  of  the  realm  in 
their  stately  robes.  These 
were  conducted  ceremoni- 
ously to  their  seats,  and 
their  coronets  placed  con- 
veniently at  hand ;  and 
meanwhile  the  multitude 
in  the  galleries  were  alive 
with  interest,  for  most  of 
them  were  belK)lding  for 
the  first  time,  dukes,  earls 
and  barons,  whose  names 
had  been  historical  for  five 
hundred  years.  When  all 
were  finally  seated,  the 
spectacle  from  the  galleries 

and  all  coigns  of  vantage  was  complete ;  a  gorgeous  one  to  look  upon 

and  to  remember. 


TOM   CANTV    APPEAKED.' 


CORONATION  BAY.  369 

Now  the  robed  and  mitred  great  heads  of  the  church,  and  their 
attendants,  filed  in  upon  the  phxtform  and  took  their  appointed  places ; 
these  were  followed  by  the  Lord  Protector  and  other  great  officials, 
and  these  again  by  a  steel-clad  detachment  of  the  Guard. 

There  was  a  waiting  pause ;  then,  at  a  signal,  a  triumphant  peal 
of  music  burst  forth,  and  Tom  Canty,  clothed  in  a  long  robe  of  cloth 
of  gold,  appeared  at  a  door,  and  stepped  upon  the  platform.  The 
entire  multitude  rose,  and  the  ceremony  of  the  Recognition  ensued. 

Then  a  noble  anthem  swept  the  Abbey  with  its  rich  waves  of 
sound ;  and  thus  heralded  and  welcomed,  Tom  Canty  was  conducted 
to  the  throne.  The  ancient  .  ceremonies  went  on,  with  impressive 
solemnity,  whilst  the  audience  gazed ;  and  as  they  drew  nearer  and 
nearer  to  completion,  Tom  Canty  grew  pale,  and  still  paler,  and  a 
deep  and  steadily  deepening  woe  and  despondency  settled  down  upon 
his  spirits  and  upon  his  remorseful  heart. 

At  last  the  final  act  was  at  hand.  The  Archbishop  of  Canterbury 
lifted  up  the  crown  of  England  from  its  cushion  and  held  it  out  over 
the  trembling  mock-king's  head.  In  the  same  instant  a  rainbow-radi- 
ance flashed  along  the  spacious  transept ;  for  with  one  impulse  every 
individual  in  the  great  concourse  of  nobles  lifted  a  coronet  and  poised 
it  over  his  or  her  head,  —  and  paused  in  that  attitude. 

A  deep  hush  pervaded  the  Abbey.  At  this  impressive  moment, 
a  startling  apparition  intruded  upon  the  scene  —  an  apparition 
observed  by  none  in  the  absorbed  multitude,  until  it  suddenly 
appeared,  moving  up  the  great  central  aisle.  It  was  a  boy,  bare- 
headed, ill  shod,  and  clothed  in  coarse  plebeian  garments  that  were 
falling  to  rags.  He  raised  his  hand  with  a  solemnity  which  ill  com- 
ported with  his  soiled  and  sorry  aspect,  and  delivered  this  note  of 
warning  — 

"  I  forbid  you  to  set  the  crown  of  England  upon  that  forfeited 
head.     I  am  the  king  !  " 


370 


CORONATION  DAY 


In  an  instant  several  indignant  liands  were  laid  upon  the  boy ; 
but  in  the  same  instant  Tom  Canty,  in  his  regal  vestments,  made  a 
swift  step  forward  and  cried  out  in  a  ringing  voice  — 

"  Loose  him  and  forbear !     He  is  the  king !  " 

A  sort  of  panic  of  astonishment  swept  the  assemblage,  and  the^^ 
partly  rose  in  their  places  and  stared   in  a  bewildered  way  at  one 


another  and  at  the  chief  figures  in  this  scene,  like  persons  who 
wondered  whether  they  were  awake  and  in  their  senses,  or  asleep 
and  dreaming.  The  Lord  Protector  was  as  amazed  as  the  rest,  but 
quickly  recovered  himself  and  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  authority  — 

"  Mind  not  his   Majesty,   his  malady  is    upon    him    again  —  seize 
the  vagabond  !  " 


2yt^    j!   h  ^.xr^' 


CORONATION  DAY.  371 

He  would  have  been  obeyed,  but  the  mock-king  stamped  his  foot 
and  cried  out  — 

"  On  your  peril  I     Touch  him  not,  he  is  the  king !  " 

The  hands  were  withheld ;  a  paralysis  fell  upon  the  house ;  no  one 
moved,  no  one  spoke ;  indeed  no  one  knew  how  to  act  or  what  to  say, 
in  so  strange  and  surprising  an  emergency.  While  all  minds  were 
struggling  to  right  themselves,  the  boy  still  moved  steadily  forward, 
with  high  port  and  confident  mien ;  he  had  never  halted  from  the 
beginning ;  and  while  the  tangled  minds  still  floundered  helplessly, 
he  stepped  upon  the  platform,  and  the  mock-king  ran  with  a  glad 
face  to  meet  him ;    and  fell  on  his  knees  before  him  and  said  — 

"  O,  my  lord  the  king,  let  poor  Tom  Canty  be  first  to  swear  fealty 
to  thee,  and  say  '  Put  on  thy  crown  and  enter  into  thine  own  again  ! ' " 

The  Lord  Protector's  eye  fell  sternly  upon  the  new-comer's  face  ; 
but  straightway  the  sternness  vanished  away,  and  gave  place  to  an 
expression  of  wondering  surprise.  This  thing  happened  also  to  the 
other  great  officers.  They  glanced  at  each  other,  and  retreated  a 
step  by  a  common  and  unconscious  impulse.  The  thought  in  each 
mind  was  the  same :    "  What  a  strange  resemblance  !  " 

The  Lord  Protector  reflected  a  moment  or  two,  in  perplexity,  then 
he  said,  with  grave  resj^ectfulness  — 

"  By  your  favor,  sir,  I  desire  to  ask  certain  questions  which  "  — 

"  I  will  answer  them,  my  lord." 

The  duke  asked  him  many  questions  about  the  court,  the  late 
king,  the  prince,  the  princesses,  —  the  boy  answered  them  correctly 
and  without  hesitating.  He  described  the  rooms  of  state  in  the 
palace,  the  late  king's  apartments,  and  those  of  the  Prince  of 
Wales. 

It  was  strange ;  it  was  wonderful ;  yes,  it  Avas  unaccountable  — 
so  all  said  that  heard  it.  The  tide  was  beginning  to  turn,  and  Tom 
Canty's  hopes  to  run  high,  when  the  Lord  Protector  shook  his  head 
and  said  — 


372  CORONATION  DAY. 

"  It  is  true  it  is  most  wonderful  —  but  it  is  no  more  than  our  lord 
the  king  likewise  can  do."  Tliis  remark,  and  this  reference  to  him- 
self as  still  the  king,  saddened  Tom  Canty,  and  he  felt  his  hopes 
crumbling  from  under  him.  "  These  are  not  proofs.,"  added  the 
Protector. 

The  tide  was  turning  very  fast,  now,  very  fast  indeed  —  but  in 
the  wrong  direction ;  it  was  leaving  poor  Tom  Canty  stranded  on  the 
throne,  and  sweeping  the  other  out  to  sea.  The  Lord  Protector  com- 
muned with  himself — shook  his  head  —  the  thought  forced  itself 
uj)on  him,  '•  It  is  perilous  to  the  State  and  to  us  all,  to  entertain  so 
fateful  a  riddle  as  this ;  it  could  divide  the  nation  and  undermine  the 
throne."     He  turned  and  said  — 

"  Sir  Thomas,  arrest  this  —  No,  hold  !  "  His  face  lighted,  and  he 
confronted  the  ragged  candidate  with  this  question  — 

"  Where  lieth  the  Great  Seal  ?  Answer  me  this  truly,  and  the 
riddle  is  unriddled ;  for  only  he  that  was  Prince  of  Wales  can  so 
answer !     On  so  trivial  a  thing  hang  a  throne  and  a  dynasty ! " 

It  was  a  lucky  thought,  a  happy  thought.  That  it  was  so  con- 
sidered by  the  great  officials  was  manifested  by  the  silent  applause 
that  shot  from  eye  to  eye  around  their  circle  in  the  form  of  bright 
approving  glances.  Yes,  none  but  the  true  prince  could  dissolve  the 
stubborn  mystery  of  the  vanished  Great  Seal  —  this  forlorn  little 
impostor  had  been  taught  his  lesson  well,  but  here  his  teachings  must 
fail,  for  his  teacher  himself  could  not  answer  that  question  —  ah,  very 
good,  very  good  indeed  ;  now  we  shall  be  rid  of  this  troublesome  and 
perilous  business  in  short  order !  And  so  they  nodded  invisibly  and 
smiled  inwardly  with  satisfaction,  and  looked  to  see  this  foolish  lad 
stricken  with  a  palsy  of  guilty  confusion.  How  surprised  they  were, 
then,  to  see  nothing  of  the  sort  happen  —  how  they  marvelled  to  hear 
him  answer  up  promptly,  in  a  confident  and  untroubled  voice,  and 
say  — 


CORONATION  DAY. 


373 


"  There  is  nought  in  this  riddle  that  is  diificult."     Then,  without  so 
much  as  a  by-your-leave  to  anybody,  he  turned  and  gave  this  command, 
with  the   easy  manner  of   one  accustomed  to 
doing   such    things :    "  My  lord    St.  John,  go 
you  to  my  private  cabinet  in  the  palace  —  /^         '     -.'^l^    S 

for    none    knoweth    the    place   better   than       i  ■ 


}ou  —  and,  close  down  to  the  flooi,  m  tlie 
left    coiner    lemotest    fiom   the    door   that 


•'the   great  seal  —  FETCH   IT   HITHER." 


opens  from    the    ante-chamber,  you    shall    find    in    the   wall   a  brazen 
nail-head  ;  press  upon  it  and  a  little  jewel-closet  will  fly  oj)en  which 


374  CORONATION  DAT. 

not  even  you  do  know  of  —  no,  nor  any  soul  else,  in  all  the  world  but 
nie  and  the  trusty  artisan  that  did  contrive  it  for  me.  The  first  thing 
that  falleth  under  your  eye  will  be  the  Great  Seal  —  fetch  it  hither." 

All  the  company  wondered  at  this  speech,  and  wondered  still  more 
to  see  the  little  mendicant  pick  out  this  peer  without  hesitancy  or 
apparent  fear  of  mistake,  and  call  him  by  name  with  such  a  placidly 
convincing  air  of  having  known  him  all  his  life.  The  peer  was  almost 
surprised  into  obeying.  He  even  made  a  movement  as  if  to  go,  but 
quickly  recovered  his  tranquil  attitude  and  confessed  his  blunder  with 
a  blush.     Tom  Canty  turned  upon  him  and  said,  sharply  — 

"  Why  dost  thou  hesitate  ?  Hast  not  lieard  the  king's  command  ? 
Go  !  " 

The  lord  St.  John  made  a  deep  obeisance  —  and  it  was  observed 
tliat  it  was  a  significantly  cautious  and  non-committal  one,  it  not  being- 
delivered  at  either  of  the  kings,  but  at  the  neutral  ground  about  half 
way  between  the  two  —  and  took  his  leave. 

Now  began  a  movement  of  the  gorgeous  particles  of  that  ofiicial 
group  which  was  slow,  scarcely  perceptible,  and  yet  steady  and  persist- 
ent —  a  movement  such  as  is  observed  in  a  kaleidoscope  that  is  turned 
slowly,  whereby  the  components  of  one  splendid  cluster  fall  away  and 
join  themselves  to  another  —  a  movement  which  little  by  little,  in  the 
present  case,  dissolved  the  glittering  crowd  that  stood  about  Tom 
Canty  and  clustered  it  together  again  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  new- 
comer. Tom  Canty  stood  almost  alone.  Now  ensued  a  brief  season 
of  deep  suspense  and  waiting  —  during  which  even  the  few  faint-hearts 
still  remaining  near  Tom  Canty  gradually  scraped  together  courage 
enough  to  glide,  one  by  one,  over  to  the  majority.  So  at  last  Tom 
Canty,  in  his  royal  robes  and  jewels,  stood  wholly  alone  and  isolated 
from  the  world,  a  conspicuous  figure,  occupying  an  eloquent  vacancy. 

Now  the  lord  St.  John  was  seen  returning.  As  he  advanced  up  the 
mid-aisle  the  interest  was  so  intense  that  the  low  murmur  of  conversa- 


COE  OX  A  TION  DA  Y. 


375 


tion  ill  the  great  assemblage  died  out  and  was  succeeded  by  a  profound 
liush,  a  breathless  stillness,  through  which  his  footfalls  pulsed  with  a 
dull  and  distant  sound.  Ever}^  eye  was  fastened  upon  him  as  he  moved 
along.  He  reached  the  jjlatform,  paused  a  moment,  then  moved  toward 
Tom  Canty  with  a  deep  obeisance,  and  said  — 

"  Sire,  the  Seal  is  not  there  ! "' 

A  mob  does  not  melt  away  from  the  presence  of  a  plague-patient 


"SIllK,    TlIK   SEAL   IS   NOT  THERE 


with  more  haste  than  the  l>and  of  pallid  and  terrified  courtiers  melted 
away  from  the  presence  of  the  shabby  little  claimant  of  the  Crown. 
In  a  moment  he  stood  all  alone,  without  friend  or  supporter,  a  target 
upon  which  was  concentrated  a  bitter  fire  of  scornful  and  angry  looks. 
The  Lord  Protector  called  out  fiercely  — 

"  Cast  the  beggar  into  the  street,  and  scourge  him  through  the  town 
—  the  paltry  kna\e  is  worth  no  more  consideration !  " 

Officers  of  the  guard  sprang  forward  to  obey,  but  Tom  Canty  waved 
them  off  and  said  — 

"  Back  !      Whoso  touches  him  perils  his  life  I  " 


376  CORONATION  BAY. 

The  Lord  Protector  was  perplexed,  in  the  hist  degree.  He  said  to 
the  lord  St.  John  — 

"  Searched  you  well '.''  —  but  it  boots  not  to  ask  that.  It  doth  seem 
passing  strange.     Little  things,  trifles,  slip  out  of  one's  ken,  and  one 


does  not  think  it  matter  for  surprise;  but  howM/6obulk^thing  as  the 
Seal  of  England  can  vanish  away  and  no  man  be  able  to  get  track  of 
it  again  —  a  massy  golden  disk  '"  — 

Tom  Canty,  with  beaming  eyes,  sprang  forward  and  shouted  — 

"  Hold,  that  is  enough  !  Was  it  round  ?  —  and  thick  ?  —  and  had  it 
letters  and  devices  graved  upon  it  ?  —  Yes  ?  O,  now  I  know  what  this 
Great  Seal  is  that  there's  been  such  worry  and  pother  about  !  An'  ye 
had  described  it  to  me,  ye  could  have  had  it  three  weeks  ago.  Right 
well  I  know  w.here  it  lies ;  but  it  was  not  I  that  put  it  there  —  first." 

"  Who,  then,  my  liege  ?  "  asked  the  Lord  Protector. 

"He  that  stands  there — the  rightful  King  of  England.  And  he 
shall  tell  you  himself  where  it  lies  —  then  you  will  believe  he  knew  it 
of  his  own  knowledge.  Bethink  thee,  in}'  king  —  spur  thy  memory  — 
it  was  the  last,  the  very  last  thing  thou  didst  that  day  before  thou  didst 
rush  forth  from  the  palace,  clotheA  in  my  rags,  to  punish  the  soldier 
that  insulted  me." 

A  silence  ensued,  vuidisturbed  by  a  movement  or  a  whisper,  and  all 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  new-comer,  who  stood,  with  bent  head  and 
corrugated  broAV,  gr<)])ing  in  his  memory  among  a  thronging  multitude 
of  valueless  recollections  for  one  single  little  elusive  fact,  which,  found, 
would  seat  him  upon  a  throne  —  unfound,  would  leave  him  as  he  was, 
for  good  and  all  —  a  pauper  and  an  outcast.  Moment  after  moment 
passed  —  the  moments  built  themselves  into  minutes  —  still  the  boy 
struggled  silently  on,  and  gave  no  sign.  But  at  last  he  heaved  a  sigh, 
shook  his  head  slowly,  and  said,  with  a  trend)ling  li^^  and  in  a  de- 
spondent voice  — 

"I  call  the  scene  back  —  all  of  it  —  but  the  Seal  hath  no  place  in 


CORONATION  DAY. 


377 


it."  He  paused,  then  looked  up,  and  said  witli  gentle  dignity,  "  My 
lords  and  gentlemen,  if  ye  will  rob  3^our  rightful  sovereign  of  liis  own 
for  lack  of  this  evidence  which  he  is  not  able  to  furnish,  I  may  not  stay 
ye,  being  powerless.     But"  — 

'*  O,  folly,  O,  madness,  my  king  I  "  cried  Tom  Canty,  in  a  panic, 
••  wait !  —  think  1     Do  not  give  up  I  —  the  cause  is  not  lost !     Nor  shall 


"  BETHIXK   THEE,    MY    KING.' 

be,  neither  !  List  to  what  I  say  —  follow  every  word  —  I  am  going  to 
bring  that  morning  back  again,  every  hap  just  as  it  happened.  We 
talked  —  I  told  you  of  my  sisters,  Nan  and  Bet  —  ah,  yes,  you  remem- 
ber that ;  and  about  mine  old  grandam  —  and  the  rough  games  of  the 
lads  of  Offal  Court  —  yes,  you  remember  these  things  also ;  very  well, 
follow  me  still,  you  shall  recall  every  thing.  You  gave  me  food  and 
drink,  and  did  with  princely  courtesy  send  away  the  servants,  so  that 
my  low  breeding  might  not  shame  me  before  them  —  ah,  yes,  this  also 
vou  remendjer." 


378  CORONATION  DAY. 

As  Tom  checked  off  his  details,  and  the  other  boy  nodded  his  head 
in  recognition  of  them,  the  great  audience  and  the  officials  stared  in 
puzzled  wonderment ;  the  tale  sounded  like  true  history,  yet  how  could 
this  impossible  conjunction  between  a  prince  and  a  beggar  boy  have 
come  about?  Never  was  a  company  of  people  so  perplexed,  so  inter- 
ested, and  so  stupefied,  before. 

"  For  a  jest,  my  prince,  we  did  exchange  garments.  Tlien  we  stood 
before  a  mirror  ;  and  so  alike  were  we  that  both  said  it  seemed  as  if 
there  had  been  no  change  made  —  yes,  you  remember  that.  Then  you 
•noticed  that  the  soldier  had  hurt  my  hand  —  look!  here  it  is,  I  cannot 
yet  even  write  with  it,  the  fingers  are  so  stiff.  At  this  your  Highness 
sprang  up,  vowing  vengeance  upon  that  soldier,  and  ran  toward  the 
door  —  you  passed  a  table  —  that  thing  you  call  the  Seal  lay  on  that 
table  —  you  snatched  it  up  and  looked  eagerly  about,  as  if  for  a  place 
to  hide  it  —  your  eye  caught  sight  of"  — 

"  There,  'tis  sufficient ! — and  the  dear  God  be  thanked  I "  exclaimed 
the  ragged  claimant,  in  a  mighty  excitement.  "  Go,  my  good  St.  John, 
—  in  an  arm-piece  of  the  Milanese  armor  that  hangs  on  the  wall,  thou'lt 
find  the  Seal !  " 

^  Right,  my  king  !  right ! "  cried  Tom  Canty ;  "  7iow  the  sceptre 
of  England  is  thine  own ;  and  it  were  better  for  him  that  would  dis- 
pute it  that  he  had  been  born  dumb  !  Go,  my  lord  St.  John,  give  thy 
feet  wings  !  "  t 

The  whole  assemblage  was  on  its  feet,  now,  and  well  nigh  out  of 
its  mind  with  uneasiness,  apprehension,  and  consuming  excitement.  On 
the  floor  and  on  the  platform  a  deafening  buzz  of  frantic  conversation 
burst  forth,  and  for  some  time  nobody  knew  any  thing  or  heard  any 
thing  or  was  interested  in  any  thing  but  what  his  neighbor  was  shout- 
ing into  his  ear,  or  he  was  shouting  into  his  neighbor's  ear.  Time  — 
nobody  knew  how  much  of  it  —  swept  by  unheeded  and  unnoted. — 
At  last  a  sudden  hush  fell  upon  the  house,  and  in  the  same  moment 


CORONATION  BAY. 


379 


St.  John  appeared  upon  tlie  platform  and  held  the  Great  Seal  aloft 
in  his  hand.     Then  such  a  shout  went  up  ! 

''  Long  live  the  true  King  ! " 

For   five    minutes   the  air  quaked   with   shouts  and   tlie   crash  of 
musical  instruments,  and  was  white  with 
a  storm  of   waving   handkerchiefs ;    and 
through  it    all    a    ragged    lad,  the  mo^t       'W^^A^t  |-A^?^!S^% 


lire  in  England, 
stood,  fl  u  s  h  e  d 
and  happy  and 
proud,  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  spa- 
cious platform, 
with  the  great 
vassals  of  the 
kingdom  kneel- 
ing around  him. 

Then  all  rose,  and  Tom  Canty  cried  out  — 

"  Now,  O,  my  king,  take  these  regal  garments  back,  and  give  poor 
Tom,  thy  servant,  his  shreds  and  remnants  again." 


"  LONG    LIVE   THE   TRUE   KING  !  " 


880  CORONATION  DAY. 

The  Lord  Protector  spoke  up  — 

■•  Let  the  small  varlet  be  stripped  and  flung  into  the  Tower." 

But  the  new  king,  the  true  king,  said  — 

"I  will  not  have  it  so.  But  for  him  1  had  not  got  my  crown 
again — none  shall  lay  a  hand  upon  him  to  harm  him.  And  as  for 
thee,  my  good  uncle,  my  Lord  Protector,  this  conduct  of  thine  is  not 
grateful  toward  this  poor  lad,  for  I  hear  he  hath  made  thee  a  duke  "  — 
the  Protector  blushed  —  "  yet  he  was  not  a  king ;  wherefore,  what  is 
thy  fine  title  worth,  now  ?  To-morrow  you  shall  sue  to  me,  through 
him.,  for  its  confirmation,  else  no  duke,  but  a  simple  earl,  shalt  thou 
remain." 

Under  this  rebuke,  his  grace  the  duke  of  Somerset  retired  a  little 
from  the  front  for  the  moment.  The  king  turned  to  Tom,  and  said, 
kindly  — 

"  My  poor  boy,  how  was  it  that  you  could  remember  where  I  hid 
the  Seal  when  I  could  not  remember  it  myself?" 

"Ah,  my  king,  that  was  easy,  since  I  used  it  divers  days." 

"Used  it,  —  yet  could  not  explain  where  it  was?" 

"  I  did  not  know  it  was  that  they  wanted.  They  did  not  describe 
it,  your  majesty." 

"  Then  how  used  you  it  ?  " 

The  red  blood  began  to  steal  up  into  Tom's  cheeks,  and  he  dropped 
his  eyes  and  was  silent. 

"  Speak  up,  good  lad,  and  fear  nothing,"  said  the  king.  "  How 
used  you  the  Great  Seal  of  England  ? " 

Tom  stannnered  a  moment,  in  a  pathetic  confusion,  then  got  it  out  — 

"  To  crack  nuts  with  !  " 

Poor  child,  the  avalanche  of  laughter  that  greeted  this,  nearly 
.swept  him  off  his  feet.  But  if  a  doubt  remained  in  any  mind  that 
Tom  Canty  was  not  the  king  of  England  and  familiar  with  the  august 
appurtenances  of  royalty,  this  reply  disposed  of  it  utterly. 


CORONATION  DAY. 


381 


Meantime  the  sumptuous  robe  of  state  had  been  removed  from 
Tom's  shoulders  to  the  king's,  wliose  rags  were  effectually  hidden 
from  sight  under  it.     Then  the  coronation  ceremonies  were  resumed; 


"to  ckack  nuts  with." 


the  true  king  was  anointed  and  the  crown  set  upon  his  head,  whilst 
cannon  thundered  the  news  to  the  city,  and  all  London  seemed  to 
rock  with  applause. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 


EDWARD   AS  KING. 


Miles  Hendon  was  picturesque  enough  before  he  got  into  the  riot 
on  London  Bridge  —  he  was  more  so  when  he  got  out  of  it.  He  had 
but  little  mone}^  when  he  got  in,  none  at  all  when  he  got  out.  The 
pickpockets  had  stripped  him  of  his  last  farthing. 

But  no  matter,  so  he  found  his  boy.  Being  a  soldier,  he  did  not 
go  at  his  task  in  a  random  way,  but  set  to  work,  first  of  all,  to  arrange 
his  campaign. 

What  would  the  boy  naturally  do  ?  Where  would  he  naturally 
go  ?  Well  —  argued  Miles  —  he  would  naturally  go  to  his  former 
liaunts,  for  that  is  the  instinct  of  unsound  minds,  when  homeless  and 
forsaken,  as  well  as  of  sound  ones.  Whereabouts  were  his  former 
iiaunts  ?  His  rags,  taken  together  with  the  low  villain  who  seemed  to 
know  him  and  who  even  claimed  to  be  his  father,  indicated  that  his 
home  was  in  one  or  another  of  the  poorest  and  meanest  districts  of 
London.  Would  the  search  for  him  be  difficult,  or  long?  No,  it  was 
likely  to  be  easy  and  brief.  He  would  not  hunt  for  the  boy,  he  would 
hunt  for  a  crowd ;  in  the  centre  of  a  big  crowd  or  a  little  one,  sooner 
or  later,  he  should  find  his  poor  little  friend,  sure ;  and  the  mangy 
mob  would  be  entertaining  itself  with  pestering  and  aggravating  the 
boy,  who  would  be  proclaiming  himself  king,  as  usual.  Then  Miles 
Hendon  would  cripple  some  of  those  people,  and  carry  off  his  little 

385 


386 


EDWARD  AS  KING. 


ward,   and   comfort  and   cheer  him   with  loving  words,  and  the  two 
would  never  be  separated  any  more. 

So  Miles  started  on  his  quest.  Hour  after  hour  he  tramped 
through  back  alleys  and  squalid  streets,  seeking  groups  and  crowds, 
and  finding  no  end  of  them,  but  never  any  sign  of  the  boy.     This 


GROUND 


greatly  surprised  him,  but  did 
not  discourage  him.  To  his  notion,  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with 
his  plan  of  campaign ;  the  only  miscalculation  about  it  was  that  the 
campaign  was  becoming  a  lengthy  one,  whereas  he  had  expected  it  to 
be  short. 

When  daylight  arrived,  at  last,  he  had  made  many  a  mile,  and 
canvassed  many  a  crowd,  but  the  only  result  was  that  he  was  tolerably 
tired,  rather  hungry,  and  very  sleepy.  He  wanted  some  breakfast,  but 
there  was  no  way  to  get  it.  To  beg  for  it  did  not  occur  to  him ;  as  to 
pawning  his  sword,  he  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  parting  with 


EDWARD   AS   KING.  387 

his  honor;    he  could  spare  some  of  his  clothes  —  yes,  but  one  could 
as  easily  find  a  customer  for  a  disease  as  for  such  clothes. 

At  noon  he  was  still  tramping  —  among  the  rabble  which  followed 
after  the  royal  procession,  now ;  for  he  argued  that  this  regal  display 
would  attract  his  little  lunatic  powerfully.  He  followed  the  pageant 
through  all  its  devious  windings  about  London,  and  all  the  way  to 
Westminster  and  the  Abbey.  He  drifted  here  and  there  amongst  the 
multitudes  that  were  massed  in  the  vicinity  for  a  weary  long  time, 
baffled  and  perplexed,  and  finally  wandered  off,  thinking,  and  trying 
to  contrive  some  way  to  better  his  plan  of  campaign.  By  and  by, 
when  he  came  to  himself  out  of  his  musings,  he  discovered  that  the 
town  was  far  behind  him  and  that  the  day  was  growing  old.  He  was 
near  the  river,  and  in  the  country ;    it  was  a  region  of  fine  rural  seats 

—  not  the  sort  of  district  to  welcome  clothes  like  his. 

It  was  not  at  all  cold ;  so  he  stretched  himself  on  the  ground  in 
the  lee  of  a  hedge  to  rest  and  think.  Drowsiness  presently  began  to 
settle  upon  his  senses ;  the  faint  and  far-off  boom  of  cannon  was  wafted 
to  his  ear,  and  he  said  to  himself  "  The  new  king  is  crowned,"  and 
straightway  fell  asleep.  He  had  not  slept  or  rested,  before,  for  more 
than  thirty  hours.  He  did  not  wake  again  until  near  the  middle  of 
the  next  morning. 

He  got  up,  lame,  stiff,  and  half  famished,  washed  himself  in  the 
river,  stayed  his  stomach  with  a  pint  or  two  of  water,  and  trudged  off 
toward  Westminster  grumbling  at  himself  for  having  wasted  so  much 
time.  Hunger  helped  him  to  a  new  plan,  now ;  he  would  try  to  get 
speech  with  old  Sir  Humphrey  Marlow  and  borrow  a  few  marks,  and 

—  but  that  was  enough  of  a  plan  for  the  present;    it  would  be  time 
enough  to  enlarge  it  when  this  first  stage  should  be  accomplished. 

Toward  eleven  o'clock  he  approached  the  palace  ;  and  although 
a  host  of  showy  people  were  about  him,  moving  in  the  same  direc- 
tion, he  was  not  inconspicuous  —  his  costume  took  care  of  that.     He 


388  EDWARD   AS   KING. 

watched  these  people's  faces  narrowly,  hoping  to  find  a  cliaritable  one 
Avhose  possessor  might  be  willing  to  carrj^  liis  name  to  the  old  lieu- 
tenant —  as  to  trying  to  get  into  the  palace  himself,  that  was  simply 
out  of  the  question. 

Presentl}^  our  whipping-boy  passed  him,  then  wheeled  about  and 
scanned  his  figure  well,  saying  to  liimself,  "  An'  that  is  not  the  very 
vagabond  his  majesty  is  in  such  a  worry  about,  then  am  I  an  ass  — 
though  belike  I  was  that  before.  He  answereth  the  description  to  a 
rag  —  that  God  should  make  two  such,  would  be  to  cheapen  miracles, 
b}'  wasteful  repetition.  I  would  I  could  contrive  an  excuse  to  speak 
with  him." 

Miles  Hendon  saved  him  the  trouble ;  for  he  turned  about,  then, 
as  a  man  generally  will  when  somebody  mesmerizes  him  by  gazing 
hard  at  him  from  behind ;  and  observing  a  strong  interest  in  the  boy's 
eyes,  he  stepped  toward  him  and  said  — 

"  You  have  just  come  out  from  the  palace  ;  do  you  belong  there  ?  " 

"Yes,  your  worship." 

"  Know  you  Sir  Humphrey  Marlow  ?  " 

The  boy  started,  and  said  to  himself,  "  Lord !  mine  old  departed 
father !  "     Then  he  answered,  aloud,  "  Right  well,  your  worship." 

"  Good  —  is  he  within  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy ;  and  added,  to  himself,  "  within  his  grave." 

"  Might  I  crave  your  favor  to  carry  my  name  to  him,  and  say  I  beg 
to  say  a  word  in  his  ear?" 

"  I  will-  despatch  the  business  right  willingly,  fair  sir." 

"  Then  say  Miles  Hendon,  son  of  Sir  Richard,  is  here  without  — 
I  shall  be  greatly  bounden  to  you,  my  good  lad." 

The  boy  looked  disappointed  — "  the  king  did  not  name  him  so," 
he  said  to  himself — "but  it  matteretli  not,  this  is  his  twin  brother, 
and  can  give  his  majesty  news  of  "tothcr  Sir-Odds-and-Ends,  I  war- 
rant." So  he  said  to  Miles,  "Step  in  tlicre  a  moment,  good  sir,  and 
wait  till   I  bring  vou  word." 


EDWARD   AS    KING. 


389 


Henclon  retired  to  the  place  indicated  —  it  was  a  recess  sunk  in 
the  palace  wall,  with  a  stone  bench  in  it  —  a  shelter  for  sentinels  in 
bad  weather.  He  had  hardly  seated  himself  when  some  halberdiers, 
in    charge  of  an  officer,  passed  by.     The  officer  saw  him,  halted  his 


"  AliRESTED   AS   A   SUSPICIOUS   CHARACTER." 

men,  and  commanded  Hendon  to  come  forth.  He  obe3'ed,  and  was 
promptly  arrested  as  a  suspicious  character  prowling  within  the  pre- 
cincts of  the  palace.  Things  began  to  look  ugly.  Poor  Miles  was 
going  to  explain,  but  the  officer  roughly  silenced  him,  and  ordered 
hft  men  to  disarm  him  and  search  him. 


390  EDWARD   AS  KING. 

"  God  of  his  mercy  grant  that  they  find  somewhat,"  said  poor 
Miles ;  "  I  have  searched  enow,  and  failed,  yet  is  my  need  greater  than 
theirs." 

Nothing  was  found  but  a  document.  The  officer  tore  it  open,  and 
Hendon  smiled  when  he  recognized  the  ^  pot-hooks  "  made  by  his  lost 
little  friend  that  black  day  at  HeTidon  Hall.  The  officer's  face  grew 
dark  as  he  read  the  English  paragraph,  and  Miles  blenched  to  the 
opposite  color  as  he  listened. 

"  Another  new  claimant  of  the  crown  !  "  cried  the  officer.  "  Verily 
they  breed  like  rabbits,  to-day.  Seize  the  rascal,  men,  and  see  ye 
keep  him  fast  whilst  I  convey  this  precious  paper  within  and  send  it 
to  the  king." 

He  hurried  away,  leaving  the  prisoner  in  the  grip  of  the  halber- 
diers. 

"Now  is  my  evil  luck  ended  at  last,"  muttered  Hendon,  "for  I 
shall  dangle  at  a  rope's  end  for  a  certainty,  by  reason  of  that  bit  of 
writing.  And  what  will  become  of  my  poor  lad  !  —  ah,  only  the  good 
God  knoweth." 

By  and  by  he  saw  the  officer  coming  again,  in  a  great  hurry ,  so  he 
plucked  his  courage  together,  purposing  to  meet  his  trouble  as  became 
a  man.  The  officer  ordered  the  men  to  loose  the  prisoner  and  return 
his  sword  to  him ;  then  bowed  respectfully,  and  said  — 

"  Please  you  sir,  to  follow  me." 

Hendon  followed,  saying  to  himself,  "  An'  I  were  not  travelling  to 
death  and  judgment,  and  so  must  needs  economize  in  sin,  I  would 
throttle  this  knave  for  his  mock  courtes^^" 

The  two  traversed  a  populous  court,  and  arrived  at  the  grand 
entrance  of  the  palace,  where  the  officer,  with  another  bow,  delivered 
Hendon  into  the  hands  of  a  gorgeous  official,  who  received  him  with 
profound  respect  and  led  him  forward  through  a  great  hall,  lined  on 
both  sides  with  rows  of  splendid  flunkies   (who  made  reverential  obei- 


EBWARD  AS   KING.  391 

sauce  as  the  two  passed  along,  but  fell  into  death-throes  of  silent 
laughter  at  our  stately  scare-crow  the  moment  his  back  was  turned,) 
and  up  a  broad  staircase,  among  flocks  of  fine  folk,  and  finally  con- 
ducted him  into  a  vast  room,  clove  a  passage  for  him  through  the 
assembled  nobility  of  England,  then  made  a  bow,  reminded  him  to 
take  his  hat  off,  and  left  him  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  a 
mark  for  all  eyes,  for  plenty  of  indignant  frowns,  and  for  a  sufficiency 
of  amused  and  derisive  smiles. 

Miles  Hendon  was  entirely  bewildered.  There  sat  the  young  king, 
under  a  canopy  of  state,  five  steps  away,  with  his  head  bent  down  and 
aside,  speaking  with  a  sort  of  human  bird  of  paradise  —  a  duke,  maybe  ; 
Hendon  observed  to  himself  that  it  Avas  hard  enough  to  be  sentenced 
to  death  in  the  full  vigor  of  life,  without  having  this  peculiarly  public 
humiliation  added.  He  wished,  the  king  would  hurry  about  it  —  some 
of  the  gaudy  people  near  by  were  becoming  pretty  offensive.  At 
this  moment  the  king  raised  his  head  slightly  and  Hendon  caught  a 
good  view  of  his  face.  The  sight  nearly  took  his  breath  away !  — 
He  stood  gazing  at  the  fair  young  face  like  one  transfixed;  then  pres- 
ently ejaculated  — 

"  Lo,  the  lord  of  the  Kingdom  of  Dreams  and  Shadows  on  his 
throne ! " 

He  muttered  some  broken  sentences,  still  gazing  and  marvelling; 
then  turned  his  eyes  around  and  about,  scanning  the  gorgeous  throng 
and  the  splendid  saloon,  murmuring  ''But  these  are  real  —  verily  these 
are  real  —  surely  it  is  not  a  dream." 

He  stared  at  the  king  again  —  and  thought,  "  Is  it  a  dream  ?  .  .  . 
or  is  he  the  veritable  sovereign  of  England,  and  not  the  friendless  poor 
Tom  o'  Bedlam  I  took  him  for  —  who  shall  solve  me  this  riddle  ?  " 

A  sudden  idea  flashed  in  his  eye,  and  he  strode  to  the  wall,  gath- 
ered up  a  chair,  brought  it  back,  planted  it  on  the  floor,  and  sat 
down  in  it ! 


392 


EDWARD   AS   KING. 


A  buzz  of  indignation  broke  out,  a  rough  hand  was  laid  upon  him, 
and  a  voice  exclaimed,  — 

"  Up,  thou  mannerless  clown  !  —  wouldst  sit 
in  the  presence  of  the  king?" 

The  disturbance  attracted  his  maj- 
esty's attention,  who  stretched  forth  his 
hand  and  cried  out  — 

"  Touch  him  not,  it  is  his  right ! " 


The  throng  fell  back, 

-  stupefied.    The  king  went 

-  on  — 
"  Learn  ye  all,  ladies, 

lords  and  gentlemen,  that    this    is 
my  trusty  and  well    beloved    ser- 
vant,   Miles    Hendon,    who   interposed    his 
good    sword    and    saved   his    prince    from 
bodily  harm  and  possible  death  —  and    for 
this   he    is    a  knight,  by  the   king's  voice. 
Also  learn,  that  for  a  higher  service,  in  that  he  saved  his  sovereign 
stripes  and  shame,  taking  these  upon  himself,  he  is  a  peer  of  England, 


(TE^- 


EDWARD   AS  KING.  393 

Earl  of  Kent,  and  shall  have  gold  and  lands  meet  for  the  dignity. 
More  —  the  privilege  which  he  liath  jnst  exercised  is  his  by  royal 
grant ;  for  we  have  ordained  that  the  chiefs  of  his  line  shall  have  and 
hold  the  right  to  sit  in  the  presence  of  the  majesty  of  England  hence- 
forth, age  after  age,  so  long  as  the  crown  shall  endure.  Molest  him 
not." 

Two  persons,  who,  through  delay,  had  only  arrived  from  the 
country  during  this  morning,  and  had  now  been  in  this  room  only  five 
minutes,  stood  listening  to  these  words  and  looking  at  the  king,  then 
at  the  scare-crow,  then  at  the  king  again,  in  a  sort  of  torpid  bewilder- 
ment. These  were  Sir  Hugh  and  the  Lady  Edith.  But  the  new 
Earl  did  not  see  them.  He  was  still  starinq;  at  the  monarch,  in  a 
dazed  way,  and  muttering —  * 

"  O,  body  o'  me  I  This  my  pauper !  This  my  lunatic !  This  is 
he  whom  I  would  show  what  grandeur  was,  in  my  house  of  seventy 
rooms  and  seven  and  twenty  servants !  This  is  he  who  had  never 
known  aught  but  rags  for  raiment,  kicks  for  comfort,  and  offal  for 
diet  I  This  is  he  whom  /  adopted  and  would  make  respectable ! 
Would  God  I  had  a  bag  to  hide  my  head  in  ! " 

Then  his  manners  suddenly  came  back  to  him,  and  he  dropped 
upon  his  knees,  with  his  Jiands  between  the  king's,  and  swore  allegi- 
ance and  did  homage  for  his  lands  and  titles.  Then  he  rose  and 
stood  respectfully  aside,  a  mark  still  for  all  eyes  —  and  much  envy, 
too. 

Now  the  king  discovered  Sir  Hugh,  and  spoke  out,  with  wrathful 
voice  and  kindling  eye  — 

"  Strip  this  robber  of  his  false  show  and  stolen  estates,  and  put  him 
under  lock  and  key  till  I  have  need  of  him." 

The  late  Sir  Hugh  was  led  away. 

There  was  a  stir  at  the  other  end  of  tlie  room,  now ;  the  assemblage 
fell  apart,  and  Tom  Canty,  quaintly  but  richly  clothed,  marched  down, 


394 


ED  WARD   AS  KING. 


between  these  living  walls,  preceded  by  an  usher.     He   knelt   before 
the  king,  who  said  — 

"I  have  learned  the  story  of  these  past  few  weeks,  and  am  well 
pleased  with  thee.     Thou  hast  governed   the   realm  with  right  royal 
gentleness  and  mercy.     Thou  hast  found  thy 
mother  and  thy  sisters  again  ?     Good ;  they 
shall    be    cared   for  —  and   thy  father    shall 


STKIP   THIS    ROBBEU. 


hang,  if  thou  desire  it  and  the  law 
consent.  Know,  all  ye  that  hear  my  — 
voice,  that  from  this  day,  they  that  ""^ 
abide  in  the  shelter  of  Christ's  Hos- 
pital and  share  the  king's  bounty,  shall  have  their  minds  and  hearts 
fed,  as  well  as  their  baser  parts ;  and  this  boy  shall  dwell  there, 
and  hold  the  chief  place  in  its  honorable  body  of  governors,  during 
life.  And  for  that  he  hath  been  a  king,  it  is  meet  that  other  than 
common  observance  shall  be  his  due ;  wherefore,  note   this  his   dress 


EDWARD    AS   KING. 


395 


of  state,  for  by  it  he   sliall   be   known,  and   none  shall   copy  it ;   and 

wheresoever    he    shall    come,  it    shall    remind 

the   people    that  he    hath   been    royal,  in   his 

time,  and  none  shall  deny  him  his 

due    of    reverence    or    fail    to   give 

liim      salutation.        He      hath      the 


••TOM    KOSE    AND    KISSED    THE   KING'S    HAND." 

throne's  protection,  he  hath  the  crown's  support,  he  shall  be  known 
and  called  by  the  honorable  title  of  the  King's  Ward." 

The  proud  and  happy  Tom  Canty  rose  and  kissed  the  king's  hand, 
and  was  conducted  from  the  presence.  He  did  not  waste  any  time, 
but  flew  to  his  mother,  to  tell  her  and  Nan  and  Bet  all  about  it  and 
get  them  to  help  liim  enjoy  the  great  news.^ 


1  See  Notes  to  Cliajiter  .S3  at  end  of  the  volume. 


CONCLUSION. 


JUSTICE    AND    RETRIBUTION. 


When  the  mysteries  were  all  cleared  up,  it  came  out,  by  confession 
of  Hugh  Henclon,  that  his  wife  had  repudiated  Miles  by  his  command, 
that  day  at  Hendon  Hall  —  a  command  assisted  and  supported  by  the 
perfectly  trustworthy  promise  that  if  she  did  not  deny  that  he  was 
Miles  Hendon,  and  stand  firmly  to  it,  he  would  have  her  life ;  where- 
upon she  said  take  it,  she  did  not  value  it  —  and  she  would  not  repudi- 
ate Miles ;  then  the  husband  said  he  would  spare  her  life  but  have 
Miles  assassinated !  This  was  a  diiferent  matter ;  so  she  gave  her 
word  and  kept  it. 

Hugh  was  not  prosecuted  for  his  threats  or  for  stealing  his  brother's 
estates  and  title,  because  the  wife  and  brother  would  not  testify  against 
him  —  and  the  former  would  not  have  been  allowed  to  do  it,  even  if 
she  had  wanted  to.  Hugh  deserted  his  wife  and  went  over  to  tl^.^ 
continent,  where  he  presently  died ;  and  by  and  by  the  earl  of  Kent 
married  his  relict.  There  were  grand  times  and  rejoicings  at  Hendon 
village  when  the  couple  paid  their  first  visit  to  the  Hall. 

Tom  Canty's  father  was  never  heard  of  again. 

The  king  sought  out  the  farmer  who  had  been  branded  and  sold 
as  a  slave,  and  reclaimed  him  from  his  evil  life  with  the  Rufifler's 
gang,  and  put  him  in  the  way  of  a  comfortable  livelihood. 

He  also  took  that  old  lawyer  out  of  prison  and  remitted  his  fine. 
He  provided  good  homes  for  the  daughters  of  the  two  Baptist  women 

399 


400  JUSTICE  AND   RETRIBUTION. 

whom  he  saw  l)urned  at  the  stake,  and  roundl}^  punislied  the  official 
who  laid  the  undeserved  stripes  upon  Miles  Hendon's  Ijack. 

He  saved  from  the  gallows  the  boy  wlio  had  captured  the  stray 
falcon,  and  also  the  woman  who  had  stolen  a  remnant  of  cloth  from  a 
weaver ;  but  he  was  too  late  to  save  the  man  who  had  been  convicted 
of  killing  a  deer  in  the  royal  forest. 

He  showed  favor  to  the  justice  who  had  pitied  liim  when  lie  was 
supposed  to  have  stolen  a  pig,  and  he  had  the  gratification  of  seeing 
him  grow  in  the  public  esteem  and  become  a  great  and  honored  man. 

As  long  as  the  king  lived  he  was  fond  of  telling  the  story  of  his 
adventures,  all  through,  from  the  hour  that  the  sentinel  cuffed  him 
awa}^  from  the  palace  gate  till  the  final  midnight  when  he  deftly 
mixed  himself  into  a  gang  of  hurryiiig  workmen  and  so  slipped  into 
the  Abbey  and  climbed  up  and  hid  liimself  in  the  Confessor's  tomb, 
and  then  slept  so  long,  next  day,  tliat  he  came  within  one  of  missing 
the  Coronation  altogether.  He  said  that  the  frequent  rehearsing  of 
the  precious  lesson  kept  him  strong  in  his  purpose  to  make  its  teach- 
ings yield  benefits  to  his  people  ;  and  so,  whilst  his  life  was  spared  lie 
should  continue  to  tt.l  the  story,  and  thus  keep  its  sorrowful  spectacles 
fresh  in  his  memory  and  the  springs  of  pity  replenished  in  his  heart. 

Miles  Hendon  and  Tom  Canty  were  favorites  of  the  king,  all 
through  his  brief  reign,  and  his  sincere  mourners  when  he  died.  The 
good  earl  of  Kent  had  too  much  sense  to  abuse  his  peculiar  privilege ; 
but  he  exercised  it  twice  after  the  instance  we  have  seen  of  it  before 
he  was  called  from  the  world ;  once  at  the  accession  of  Queen  Mary, 
and  once  at  the  accession  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  A  descendant  of  his 
exercised  it  at  the  accession  of  James  I.  Before  this  one's  son  chose 
to  use  the  privilege,  near  a  quarter  of  a  century  had  elapsed,  and  the 
"privilege  of  the  Kents"  had  faded  out  of  most  people's  memories; 
so,  when  the  Kent  of  that  day  appeared  before  Charles  I  and  his 
court  and  sat  down  in  the  sovereign's  presence  to  assert  and  perpetu- 


JUSTICE  AND   RETRIBUTION.  401 

ate  the  right  of  his  house,  there  was  a  fine  stir,  indeed  !  But  the 
matter  was  soon  explained,  and  the  right  confirmed.  The  last  earl 
of  the  line  fell  in  the  wars  of  the  Commonwealth  fighting  for  the 
king,  and  the  odd  privilege  ended  with  him. 

Tom  Canty  lived  to  be  a  very  old  man,  a  handsome,  white-haired 
old  fellow,  of  grave  and  benignant  aspect.  As  long  as  he  lasted  he 
was  honored ;  and  he  was  also  reverenced,  for  his  striking  and  peculiar 
costume  kept  the  people  reminded  that  "in  his  time  he  had  been 
royal ; "  so,  wherever  he  appeared  the  crowd  fell  apart,  making  way 
for  him,  and  whispering,  one  to  another,  "  Doff  thy  hat,  it  is  the  King's 
Ward !  "  —  and  so  they  saluted,  and  got  his  kindly  smile  in  return  — 
and  they  valued  it,  too,  for  his  was  an  honorable  history. 

Yes,  King  Edward  VI  lived  only  a  few  years,  poor  boy,  but  he 
lived  them  worthily.  More  than  once,  when  some  great  dignitary, 
some  gilded  vassal  of  the  crown,  made  argument  against  his  leniency, 
and  urged  that  some  law  which  he  was  bent  upon  amending  was  gentle 
enough  for  its  purpose,  and  wrought  no  suffering  or  oppression  which 
any  one  need  mightily  mind,  the  young  king  turned  the  mournful 
eloquence  of  his  great  compassionate  eyes  upon  him  and  answered  — 

"  What  dost  thou  know  of  suffering  and  oppression  ?  I  and  my 
people  know,  but  not  thou." 

The  reign  of  Edward  VI  was  a  singularly  merciful  one  for  those 
harsh  times.  Now  that  we  are  taking  leave  of  him  let  us  try  to  keep 
this  in  our  minds,  to  his  credit. 


ISrOTES. 

Note  1.  —  Page  50. 

Christ's  Hospital  Costume, 

It  is  most  reasonable  to  regard  the  dress  as  copied  from  the  costume  of  tlie 
citizens  of  London  of  that  period,  when  long  blue  coats  were  the  common  habit  of 
apprentices  and  serving-men,  and  yellow  stockings  were  generally  worn  ;  the  coat 
fits  closely  to  the  body,  but  has  loose  sleeves,  and  beneath  is  worn  a  sleeveless 
yellow^  nnder-coat ;  around  the  waist  is  a  red  leathern  girdle ;  a  clerical  band 
around  the  neck,  and  a  small  flat  black  cap,  about  the  size  of  a  saucer,  com- 
pletes the  costume. —  Tiiuhs' '■' Curiosities  of  London..'" 

"Note  2. —Page  .5?.. 

Tt  appears  that  Christ's  Hospital  was  not  originally  founded  as  a  school; 
its  object  was  to  rescue  childi'en  from  the  streets,  to  shelter,  feed,  clothe  them, 
etc.  —  Tinibs''  "  Curiosities  of  London." 

Note  3.  —  Page  67. 

The  Dulce  of  Norfolk's  Condeinnation    Commanded. 

The  King  was  now  approaching  fast  towards  his  end ;  and  fearing  lest  Nor- 
folk should  escape  him,  he  sent  a  message  to  the  Commons,  by  which  he  desired 
them  to  hasten  the  bill,  on  pretence  that  Norfolk  enjoyed  the  dignity  of  earl 
marshal,  and  it  was  necessary  to  appoint  another,  who  might  officiate  at  the 
ensuing  ceremony  of   installing  his  son  Prince  of    Wales. — Hnme,  vol.  iii.  p.  307. 

Note  4.  —  Page  91. 

It  was  not  till  the  end  of  this  reign  [Henry  VIIT]  that  any  salads,  carrots, 
turnips,   or   other   edible   roots   were   produced    in    England.      The   little   of    these 

405 


406  NOTES. 

vegetables  that  was  used,  was  formerly  imported  from  Holland  and  Flanders. 
Queen  Catherine,  when  she  wanted  a  salad,  was  obliged  to  despatch  a  messenger 
thither  on  purpose. — Hume's  History  of  England,  vol.  iii.  p.  314. 

Note  5. — Page  100. 

Attainder  of  Norfolk. 

The  house  of  peers,  without  examining  the  prisoner,  without  trial  or  evidence, 
passed  a  bill  of  attainder  against  him  and  sent  it  down  to  the  commons. 
The  obsequious  commons  obeyed  his  [the  King's]  du'ections ;  and  the  King,  having 
affixed  the  royal  assent  to  the  bill  by  commissioners,  issued  orders  for  the  execu- 
tion of  Norfolk  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty-ninth  of  January,  [the  next  day.] 
—  Huine's  England,  vol.  iii.  p.  306. 

Note  6. —  Page  120. 

The  Loving- Cup. 

The  loving-cup,  and  the  peculiar  ceremonies  observed  in  drinking  from  it, 
are  older  than  English  history.  It  is  tliought  that  both  are  Danish  importations. 
As  far  back  as  knowledge  goes,  the  loving-cup  has  always  been  drunk  at  English 
banqiiets.  Tradition  explains  the  ceremonies  in  this  way :  in  the  rude  ancient 
times  it  was  deemed  a  wise  precaution  to  have  botli  hands  of  both  drinkers 
employed,  lest  while  the  pledger  pledged  his  love  and  fidelity  to  the  pledgee 
the  pledgee  take  that  opportunity  to  slip  a  dirk  into  him! 

Note  7. —Page  129. 

The  Duke  of  Norfolk's  Narrow  Escape. 

Had  Henry  VTIT  survived  a  few  hours  longer,  his  order  for  the  duke's  execu- 
tion would  have  been  carried  into  effect.  "  But  news  being  cariied  to  the  Tower 
that  the  King  himself  had  expired  that  night,  the  lieutenant  deferred  obeying  the 
warrant;  and  it  was  not  thought  advisable  by  the  Council  to  begin  a  new  reign 
by  the  death,  of  the  greate.st  nobleman  in  the  Kingdom,  who  had  been  condemned 
by  a  sentence  so  unjust  and  tyrannical."  —  Hume's  Englaiid,  vol.  iii.  p.  307. 


JSTOTES.  407 

Note  8. —Page  171. 

The   Whipping-Boy. 

James  I  and  Charles  II  had  whipping-boys,  when  they  were  little  fellows,  to 
take  their  punishment  for  them  when  they  fell  short  in  their  lessons ;  so  I  have 
ventured  to  fnrnish  my  small  prince  with  one,  for  my  own  purposes. 

Notes  to  Chapter  XV.  —  Page  192. 
Character  of  Hertford. 

The  yonng  king  discovered  an  extreme  attachment  to  his  micle,  who  was,  in  the 
main,  a  man  of  moderation  and  probity.  — Hume's  England,  vol.  iii.  p.  324. 

But  if  he  [the  Protector]  gave  offence  by  assuming  too  much  state,  he  deserves 
great  praise  on  account  of  the  laws  passed  this  session,  by  which  the  rigor  of  former 
statutes  was  nuich  mitigated,  and  some  security  given  to  the  freedom  of  the  con- 
stitution. All  laws  were  repealed  which  extended  the  crime  of  treason  beyond  the 
statute  of  the  twenty-fifth  of  Edward  III ;  all  laws  enacted  during  the  late  reign 
extending  the  crime  of  felony;  all  the  former  laws  against  Lollardy  or  heresy, 
together  with  the  statute  of  the  Six  Articles.  None  were  to  be  accused  for  words, 
but  within  a  month  after  they  were  spoken.  By  these  repeals  several  of  the  most 
rigorous  laws  that  ever  had  passed  in  England  were  annulled ;  and  some  dawn,  both 
of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  began  to  appear  to  the  people.  A  repeal  also  passed  of 
that  law,  the  destruction  of  all  laws,  by  which  the  king's  proclamation  was  made 
of  equal  force  with  a  statute.  —  Ibid.,  vol.  iii.  p.  339. 

Boiling  to  Death. 

In  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII,  poisoners  were,  by  act  of  parliament,  condemned  to 
be  boiled  to  death.     This  act  was  repealed  in  the  following  reign. 

In  Germany,  even  in  the  17th  century,  this  horrible  punishment  was  inflicted 
on  coiners  and  counterfeiters.  Taylor,  the  Water  Poet,  describes  an  execution  he 
witnessed  in  Hamburg,  in  lOlG.  The  judgment  pronoimced  against  a  coiner  of  false 
money  was  that  he  should  "  be  boiled  to  death  in  oil :  not  thrown  into  the  vessel  at 
once,  biit  with  a  pulley  or  rope  to  be  hanged  under  the  armpits,  and  then  let  down 
into  the  oil  hj  degrees ;  first  the  feet,  and  next  the  legs,  and  so  to  boil  his  flesh  from 
his  bones  alive."  —  Dr.  J.  Hammond  Trumbull's  '■'■Blue  Laws,  True  and  False,"  p.  13. 


408  NOTES. 

The  Famous  Stocking  Case. 

A  WOMAN  and  her  daughter  nine  years  old,  were  hanged  in  Huntingdon  for  sell- 
ing their  souls  to  the  devil,  and  raising  a  storm  by  pulling  off  then-  stockings !  — 
Ibid.,  p.  20. 

Note  10.  —  Page  214. 

Enslaving. 

So  young  a  king,  and  so  ignorant  a  peasant  were  likely  to  make  mistakes  — 
and  this  is  an  instance  in  point.  This  peasant  was  suffering  from  this  law  by  antici- 
pation;  the  king  was  venting  his  indignation  against  a  law  which  was  not  yet  in 
existence :  for  this  hideous  statute  was  to  have  birth  in  this  little  king's  own  reign 
However,  we  know,  from  the  humanity  of  his  character,  that  it  could  never  have 
been  suggested  by  him. 

Notes  to  Ciiaptek  XXIII. —Page  285. 
Death  for  Trijiing  Larcenies. 

When  Connecticut  and  New  Haven  were  framing  then-  first  codes,  larceny  above 
the  value  of  twelve  pence  was  a  capital  crime  in  England  —  as  it  had  been  since  the 
time  of  Henry  T.  —  Dr.  J.  Hammond  TrumbuWs  '■'■Blue  Laws,  True  and  False,'^  p.  17. 

The  curious  old  book  called  "  The  English  Rogue "  makes  the  limit  thirteen 
pence  ha'penny ;  death  being  the  j)ortion  of  any  who  steal  a  thing  *'  above  the  value 
of  thirteen  pence  ha'penny." 

Notes  to  Chapter  XXVII. —  Page  317. 

From  many  descriptions  of  larceny,  the  law  expressly  took  away  the  benefit  of 
clergy ;  to  steal  a  horse,  or  a  hawk,  or  woollen  cloth  from  the  weaver,  was  a  hanging- 
matter.  So  it  was,  to  kill  a  deer  from  tlie  king's  forest,  or  to  export  sheep  from  the 
Kingdom.  —  Dr.  ./.  Hammond  Trumbidl's  '■'■Blue  Laws,  True  and  False,*'  p.  13. 

William  Prynne,  a  learned  barrister,  was  sentenced  —  [long  after  Edward  the 
Sixth's  time] — to  lose  both  his  ears  in  the  pillory;  to  degradation  from  the  bar; 
a  fine  of  £3,000,  and  imprisonment  for  life.  Three  years  afterwards,  he  gave  new 
offence  to  Laud,  by  publishing  a  pamphlet  against  the  liierarchy.  He  was  again 
prosecuted,  and  was  sentenced  to  lose  what  remained  of  his  ears;  to  pay  a  fine  of 
£5,000;  to  be  branded  on  both  his  cheeks  with  the  letters  S.  L.  (for  Seditious  Libeller,) 
and  to  remain  in  prison  for  life.  The  severity  of  this  sentence  was  equalled  by  the 
savage  rigor  of  its  execution.  —  Ibid.,  p.   12. 


NOTES.  409 

< 

Notes  to  Chaptku  XXXIII.  —Page  395. 

Christ's  Hospital,  or  Bluk  Coat  School,  "  the  Noblest  Institution  in  the 
World." 

The  ground  on  which  the  Priory  of  the  Grey  Friars  stood  was  conferred  by 
Henry  the  Eighth  on  the  Corporation  of  London,  [who  caused  the  institution  there 
of  a  home  for  poor  boys  and  girls.]  Subsequently,  Edward  the  Sixth  caused  the 
old  Priory  to  be  properly  repaired,  and  founded  within  it  that  noble  establishment 
called  the  Blue  Coat  School,  or  Christ's  Hospital,  for  the  education  and  maintenance 
of  orphans  and  the  children  of  indigent  pei'sons.  .  .  .  Edward  would  not  let  him 
[Bishop  Ridley]  depart  till  the  letter  was  written,  [to  the  Lord  Mayor,]  and  then 
charged  him  to  deliver  it  himself,  and  signify  his  special  request  and  commandment 
that  no  time  might  be  lost  in  proposing  what  was  convenient,  and  apprising  him 
of  the  proceedings.  The  work  was  zealously  undertaken,  Ridley  himself  engaging 
in  it ;  and  the  result  was,  the  founding  of  Christ's  Hospital  for  the  Education  of  Poor 
Children.  [The  king  endowed  several  other  charities  at  the  same  time.]  "Lord 
God,"  said  he,  "  I  yield  thee  most  hearty  thanks  that  thou  hast  given  me  life  thus 
long,  to  finish  this  work  to  the  glory  of  thy  name !  "  That  innocent  and  most 
exemplary  life  was  drawing  rapidly  to  its  close,  and  in  a  few  days  he  rendered  up 
his  spirit  to  his  Creator,  praying  God  to  defend  the  realm  from  Papistry. — /. 
Heneage  Jesse's  "London,  its  Celebrated  Characters  and  Places.'' 

In  the  Great  Hall  hangs  a  large  picture  of  King  Edward  VI  seated  on  his 
throne,  in  a  scarlet  and  ermined  robe,  holding  the  -sceptre  in  his  left  hand,  and 
presenting  with  the  other  the  Charter  to  the  kneeling  Lord  Mayor.  By  his  side 
stands  the  Chancellor,  holding  the  seals,  and  next  to  him  are  other  officers  of  state. 
Bishop  Ridley  kneels  before  him  with  uplifted  hands,  as  if  supplicating  a  blessing  on 
the  event;  whilst  the  Aldermen,  etc.,  with  the  Lord  Mayor,  kneel  on  both  sides, 
occupying  the  middle  ground  of  the  picture ;  and  lastly,  in  front,  are  a  double  row 
of  boys  on  one  side,  and  girls  on  the  other,  from  the  master  and  matron  down  to 
the  boy  and  girl  who  have  stepped  forward  from  their  respective  rows,  and  kneel  witli 
raised  hands  before  the  King.  —  Timbs'  "  Curiosities  of  London,"  p.  98. 

Christ's  Hospital,  by  ancient  custom,  possesses  the  privilege  of  addressing  the 
Sovereign  on  the  occasion  of  his  or  her  coming  into  the  City  to  partake  of  the 
hospitality  of  the  Corporation  of  London.  —  Ibid. 

The  Dining-Hall,  with  its  lobby  and  organ-gallery,  occupies  the  entire  story, 
which  is  187  feet  long,  51  feet  wide,  and  47  feet  high ;  it  is  lit  by  nine  large  windows. 


410  NOTES. 

tilled  with  stained  glass  on  the  south  side;  and  is,  next  to  Westminster  Ilall,  the 
noblest  room  in  the  metropolis.  Here  the  boys,  now  about  800  in  number,  dine ; 
and  here  are  held  the  "  Suppings  in  Public,"  to  which  visitors  are  admitted  by  tickets, 
issued  by  the  Treasurer  and  by  the  Governors  of  Christ's  Hospital.  The  tables  are 
laid  with  cheese  in  wooden  bowls ;  beer  in  wooden  piggins,  poured  from  leathern  jacks  ; 
and  bread  brought  in  large  baskets.  The  official  company  enter ;  the  Lord  Mayor, 
or  President,  takes  his  seat  in  a  stato  chair,  made  of  oak  from  St.  Catherine's  Church 
by  the  Tower ;  a  hymn  is  sung,  accompanied  by  the  organ ;  a  "  Grecian,"  or  head  boy, 
reads  the  prayers  f i*om  the  pulpit,  silence  being  enfoi'ced  by  three  drops  of  a  wooden 
hammer.  After  prayer  the  supper  commences,  and  the  visitors  walk  between  the 
tables.  At  its  close,  the  "  trade-boys  "  take  up  the  baskets,  bowls,  jacks,  piggins,  and 
candlesticks,  and  pass  in  procession,  the  bowing  to  the  Governors  being  curiously 
formal.     This  spectacle  was  witnessed  by  Queen  Victoria  and  Prince  Albert  in  1845. 

Among  the  more  eminent  Blue  Coat  Boys  are  Joshua  Barnes,  editor  of  Anacreon 
and  Euripides ;  Jeremiah  Markland,  the  (iminent  critic,  particularly  in  (ireek  litera- 
ture ;  Camden,  the  antiquary ;  Bishop  Stillingfleet ;  Samuel  Richardson  the  novelist ; 
Thomas  Mitchell,  the  translator  of  Aristophanes ;  Thomas  Barnes,  many  years  editor 
of  the  London  Times ,  Coleridge,  Charles  Lamb,  and  Leigh  Hunt. 

No  boy  is  admitted  before  he  is  seven  years  old,  or  after  he  is  nine ;  and  n%  boy 
can  remain  in  the  school  after  he  is  fifteen,  King's  boys  and  "  Grecians  "  alone 
excepted.  There  are  about  500  Governors,  at  the  head  of  whom  are  the  Sovereign 
and  the  Prince  of  Wales.  The  qualification  for  a  Governor  is  payment  of  £500.  — 
I/nd. 


GENERAL   NOTE. 

Onr  hears  much  about  the  •' hlrleous  Blue-Laws  of  Co?ineclicut,"  and  is  accustomed  to 
shudder  piously  tohen  Iheij  are  mentioned.  There  are  people  in  America  —  and  even  in 
Enr/land !  —  toho  imagine  that  theij  were  a  very  monument  of  malignity,  pitilessness,  and 
inhumanity;  ichereas,  in  reality  they  were  about  tlie first  sweeping  departure  from 
.JUDICIAL  ATROCITY  lohich  the  '■^  civiUzed"  world  had  seen.  This  humane  and  kindly 
Blue-Law  code,  of  two  hundred  and  forty  years  ago,  stands  all  by  itself,  with  ages  of 
bloody  law  on  the  further  side  of  it,  and  a  century  atid  three-quarters  of  bloody  English  law 
on  THIS  side  of  it. 


NOTES.  41  i 

There  lias  never  been  a  time  —  under  the  Blue-Laws  or  any  other  —  when  above 
FOURTEEN  Crimes  were  punishable  by  death  in  Connecticut.  But  in  Enyland,  within  th<: 
memory  of  men  luho  are  still  hale  in  body  and  mind,  TWO  hundhed  and  twenty-three 
crimes  wei'e  punishable  by  death. '^  These  facts  are  worth  knowing  —  and  worth  thinking 
about,  too. 

1  See  Dr.  J.  Haiumoud  TrumljiiU's  "  Blue  Laws,  True  and  False,"  p.  11. 


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